Black Boots on a One Way Street
by oahfoah
Summary: Roughly two years ago, there was no watch to save the day. The warehouse was destroyed and loved ones were lost... Now Myka and Claudia decide to team up against their former friends to bring back H.G. and Steve... Completely AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! I know, I know, long time no write. But I'm back now with this Work In Progress. I have the general outline but have only written a few chapters out right. I've been sitting on this idea for a while and I know if I don't just put it out there now, I never will. Also if there are people who want to read it, then it'll force me to finish writing. So, I just want to say any suggestions, criticisms or praise are accepted and encouraged. :)**

**Also a warning: this gets pretty dark and dives into the relationships of every character on the show. Its set after the season 3 finale where there is no watch to save the day. **

**This has not be beta'd so any and all mistakes are my own. I apologize in advance. **

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Warehouse 13.**

* * *

**Black Boots on a One-Way Street**

**Chapter 1**

"I'm looking for Mark Johnson," she says, boredom barely hidden under her authoritative tone.

The grubby bartender looks her up and down out of the corner of his eye. She stares back at him, arms crossed and legs straight, something akin to an unmovable force of nature. The man's old grey eyes narrow slightly as he continues spreading the dried alcohol around his abused counter.

"Never heard of him," he finally rumbles out, swinging the dirty cloth over his shoulder.

She closes her eyes in frustration for a tiny second before she takes a seat at the near empty bar. There are a few construction workers having a beer along the other side of the small hole-in-the-wall. One of which - the one with the cropped brown hair - has been eying her from the minute she stepped foot in the place. And there is another man in the opposite corner wearing a Stetson; his eyes are on the row of drinks behind the bar but the edges of his lips are curved just the slightest – finding humor in her annoyance.

"Jack and coke then," she orders, reigning in her sigh. It isn't what she usually gets but unfortunately it's a necessary piece of the puzzle she's been playing for the past few months.

Despite his grumpy exterior, the bartender starts mixing the drink right away, apparently unwilling to lose a customer.

"That's a pretty grown up drink, there," the brown haired worker voices across the room to her. "You sure you're up for it, sweetie?"

He snickers and the men around him laugh to please their drunken leader. She holds back a reply with ease, keeping her eyes on the bartender and the drink he places before her. She downs it in two gulps and asks for another.

The peanut gallery chuckles again, slightly less arrogantly and she can't help but let a tiny smirk grace her features. The older bartender gives her the drink with a weary eye and shuffles away from her to give the men another round of beer.

She drinks the next one slower. She has the bartender's attention even if he doesn't want to give it and she tries to enjoy the alcohol as it burns it's way down her throat to settle in her empty stomach. By the time she finishes the men in the corner have started singing a drunken, out of tune, and much more vulgar version of the latest pop song that plays on the radio every few minutes. She might have recognized the tune if she listened to the radio anymore.

But she grew tired of the constant spew of lies strewn together like an elaborate web ages ago. And in the mid-west, there is one lie that she hears more often than most in the past year: the one about a gas explosion – a freak accident – that demolished the country's biggest deposit of IRS forms. And how it might have been a government conspiracy or drunken workers or foolhardy and bored teenagers or a psychopathic man bent on the destruction of the warehouse since he was a kid. Well, that last one never got out. The truth rarely does.

Drunken laughter breaks up her silent brooding and she orders a third drink eliciting another jeering noise from the brown haired drunk. She sips the drink, ignoring the man as he slowly stumbles towards her. With a look over his shoulder at his cohorts, he leans one arm on the counter and gives her a crooked smile.

"Hey, there babe," he slurs. His breath smells of cheap beer and cigarettes and she happily takes another swig of her drink to cover his odor.

Unlike any sane, sober man, the worker takes her silence as an invitation to run his hand over her back and takes a loud, obnoxious sniff of her hair. She turns her body then, grabbing and twisting his curious hand and he ends up on his knees, his face scrunched in pain and her scent in his mouth is gone with a scream of pain.

"I wouldn't do that," she says as calmly as if she were commenting on the weather. She releases the man and goes back to her drink. The air in the bar is electrified, every eye is on her and she's only glad that she's in a remote-out-of-the-way bar with no phone reception besides the pay phone hidden in a dark corner. Someone calling for help or even texting an outsider is the kind of trouble she wants more than anything to ignore.

And yet. The man she left on the ground regains his stance and the room holds their breath. It is then that she knows she should have left when she had the chance. If she had just walked away then and there… no, this isn't her fault. She is there for one reason and it is not to be molested by a drunken construction worker.

The man tries to punch her from behind, betraying his surprise with a muttered curse word just before. She ducks out of the way and in a maneuver that comes with years of experience, she slams the man's head against the counter and he falls to the ground, unconscious. Seconds pass and the group in the corner work up the courage to retaliate for what they see as injustice. If they were sober, maybe they might have realized three men against one woman is hardly justice, she thinks blithely. It is just stupidity.

Minutes later, she stands amongst a pile of men all groaning in pain with an almost apologetic look at the bartender. He stares at her, eyes full of fear and disbelief, as he mutters three numbers. "425," and points to the phone in the shadows.

Three numbers, that's all she wanted in the first place. And after all she's been through tonight, she wonders if she even wants to go through with her plan. But then things like money and self worth and pride dance through her mind and she nods at the bartender in thanks.

She picks up the dirty receiver and deftly punches the numbers into the keypad. After two rings a voice answers, "Yes?"

It's always the same voice, she thinks, and it's always the same answer. "Mark Johnson."

The line goes silent like it always does and she takes those few seconds to survey the bar. The drunken men are still rolling on the ground, slowly returning to consciousness but she's not worried about that. She's worried about the man from across the bar wearing a Stetson and a smirk, or rather the lack thereof. He must have slipped out when she was busy with the brown haired worker or maybe later when the full out fight occurred.

Either way, he is gone now and who knows whom he has told of his little trip to the local bar. By now he could be well into the world of cell service and any call, any text, and she'd be found out.

"- 2773 Lynnwest Court, Sterling, Colorado. Shield."

The line clicks off faster than she can pull her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She quickly memorizes what she hears and briefly wonders if they changed the format but no, just like everything else, just like Mark Johnson, like the Jack and Coke, like the three numbers in a tiny bar in the middle of nowhere, it never changes. Name, address, and assignment. She missed the name.

But she doesn't have the time to worry about it, she has the address, she can figure out the name easily. She barely gives the bartender a backward glance as she steals out into the black night.

.:.

She doesn't take off her shoes inside a residence anymore. Nor does she remove her jacket or essential things like her Tesla, keys, phone, and wallet from her pockets. She has a spare set of clothes and a toothbrush stashed in a black backpack that she carries with her. She also has an old computer that desperately needs an upgrade but why waste the money on something that will someday get left behind permanently when a mission goes wrong?

She buys whatever else she needs. Which requires money. And unfortunately, it order to stay low, under the radar, she has to do these jobs. Jobs that Secret Service agents legally cannot do and bounty hunters don't want to do. Top secret – even the government who handle the job placements don't know exactly who carries out the contracts. All they know is the person is former CIA, FBI, or Secret Service because only they know the rules. A story told by mouth to agents suspected of being demoted and might possibly quit. She learned it after Sam died.

These are the jobs for the desperate. And as much as she loathes thinking it, she is desperate. Hotel rooms and deodorant don't pay for themselves. So, when money is tight she finds a bar with the Ace of Spades card displayed in a corner window and follows the routine. It's worked well so far.

But when she enters her two star motel room on the side of a bumpy interstate road this night, she doesn't stop to check the local news on channel four. She grabs her bag off her dingy bed and slams her computer shut, ignoring the blinking message she sees on the screen. Closing the door behind her, she opens the nearest unlocked car and hotwires it. A flash of red blurs her vision but she swiftly dismisses it. Within seconds the only trace of Myka Bering left in the town of Leoti, Kansas are her footprints on the thin dust in front of the broken down motel. And even those are blown away with the next strong gust of wind.

.:.

The road is dark and foreboding as it merges with the black sky. Clouds quietly conceal the stars like a killer covering the mouth of his latest victim. A storm is coming and Myka can't help but think she's driving right into the thick of it. She reaches carelessly for the radio and curses when it refuses to click on. Silence engulfs her and her traitorous mind turns inward.

_She's startled slightly by a soft cough behind her. She knows who it is before she even turns and smiles at the sight of H.G. Wells cautiously exiting the Bed and Breakfast to stand next to her fellow brunette. _

_They stand in relative silence, gazing out at the stars above and the quiet atmosphere around them. Myka still can't believe it – that the real live H.G. Wells is here, standing next to her, breathing the same air as her and as far as she is concerned, not evil. No matter what Artie may think. _

"_You seem a bit tense," H.G. observes out loud, "Dare I ask why?"_

_She smirks slightly, allowing Myka the opportunity to ignore the question but her eyes are incredibly curious. H.G. may present a smooth and calm exterior but Myka knows her mind is always working, always watching and memorizing, always so perceptive. _

"_Just thinking about what Artie said to me earlier," Myka confesses. She wraps her arms around herself despite the warm temperature outside._

"_Ah," H.G. says and turns back to the stars with a knowing smile on her face. "I'm guessing a 'good job' wasn't in his speech anywhere?"_

_Myka smiles but doesn't answer. There's no need anyway, no one has seen Artie since he stormed out after H.G.'s reinstatement, which has been collectively determined a "not good thing" as Pete so eloquently put it._

"_I've said this before, but I don't expect all of you to trust me right away," she pauses and Myka can't help but think how endearing H.G. looks as she continues to sheepishly talk to her shoes. "Gaining trust is a slow process, I know that but…"_

_H.G. turns her gaze to the stars once more and smiles brightly, almost in embarrassment, "You have a wonderful family here and I'd hate to be the one to cause such a rift between you and Artie – "_

"_Artie and I will be fine," Myka cuts off whatever H.G. was going to say with a firm nod. H.G. blushes slightly and returns her gaze to the ground as Myka continues, "And he'll come around in his own time. He… He has his own way and his own secret tests that determines who can receive his trust." _

"_Yes, he seems very protective," H.G. agrees and the two share a laugh._

"_You have no idea."_

_They lapse back into comfortable silence for a few minutes before H.G. breaks it softly, "Well, all this excitement has worn me out. I'm going to head to bed."_

_She turns but stops at Myka's voice. "Thank you."_

"_For what?" H.G. asks innocently. Myka hears the peeked curiosity and the wheels turning in her head. She smiles and turns to the British woman. "Thank you for saving my life with the grappler. And for saving Claudia's and Artie's."_

_They share a smile and H.G. nods humbly before replying, "You're welcome. I'm very glad I was there to help. See you in the morning." And then she slips back into the dark B&B and Myka wonders once again how someone this intelligent and humble and thoughtful could have ever been bronzed._

Tears blur her eyes and the few and far between streetlights morph into lines guiding her through the darkness. She barely has enough gas to make it to the Kansas/Colorado border so she decides to pull into the nearest town to get a room for the night.

The room is bigger than her last one but somehow less expensive. She tries not to think about what is missing or what's damaged that has lowered the price. Instead she just locks the door, windows, and pulls the blinds closed before she puts down her bag and boots up her computer. She opens the cheap bar of soap in the bathroom sink and scrubs her face before hopping in the shower for a quick once over and a cleansing cry. Changing into her new, cleaner set of clothes – black pants and a blue shirt – she falls into the bed. And glances at her computer screen.

It's there again. The message blinks on and off like a never-ending strobe light.

_I can help you bring her back,_ it says. And she knows exactly who sent it. Who keeps sending it every time she opens her computer. And who the "her" is referring to.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep and the downside of an adrenaline rush. Maybe it's the fresh tears and an old memory resurfacing that makes her do it. Maybe she is just tired of life on the run.

Whatever it is, the last thing Myka is cognizant of before falling into the ecstasy of sleep is typing four keys.

_How?_

.:.

She revels in the moments right before fully waking but when she's still asleep; the last vestiges of her dreams cling to her semi-conscious mind before reality startles her awake. She sits straight and quiets her breathing in milliseconds and remains still for a full minute listening for locks clicking, footsteps on carpet or cement, car doors shutting. But she hears none, nothing but the tweeting of two birds announcing the sunrise and her own breathing.

Slowly she lies back down and relaxes. It's been months, maybe even a year since she's experienced those few precious moments of pure bliss. As she puts on her shoes and washes her face, she tries to remember her dream. Bits and pieces come back to her; the feeling of happiness and the scent of apples are among the most powerful.

Draping her jacket over her shoulders she looks at her computer. She freezes; there are more words than the simple line she's learned to overlook. There is a tiny word that forms a huge, astronomical question and underneath that, there is a simple yet so complicated address and time.

Myka searches her memories, before the sleeping and the amazing dream, but after falling onto the bed. Yes, she did type that word but she never pressed "enter." She never did. She doesn't really want to know how to save her… right?

No, the rational part of her brain insists. There's no way to save her, especially now, eighteen months later. So there's no point even giving it a thought.

_But there is_, she thinks with more positive emotions than she's felt in months. There must be a way because the person on the other side of her computer says there is and she doesn't lie. Not about things like this. And when Myka stops to really think about it, she never has to press enter. All she has to do is point the gun, and the girl on the other side of the computer will willingly pull the trigger. And she has.

_There might be a way_. The idea floats lazily in her mind as if it wasn't the most heart wrenching decision she's ever made. It blurs her eyesight and Myka, damn the logic, the rationality, wants to know the truth. It's like she has been given a taste of a drug and she needs more. She needs it and she wants it and she so loves it because there is a way. _Maybe. _

Myka can almost hear her logical self sigh in resignation as she snatches up her things.

* * *

**So what do you think? Let me know. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Black Boots on a One Way Street**

**Chapter 2**

The rain masks the tiny building from his sight, if he didn't have the street-view GPS, he might have missed it completely. He parks his black SUV between an ancient rusted pickup and a newer Ford F-150, his tires making deep tracks in the soggy mud beneath him. It is a hole-in-the-wall, a run down and dirty building fighting with the world's economy to stay in business. He thinks this rain is the first time its walls have been cleaned in years. He's probably right.

And then he notices in the Ace of Spades taped in a corner window, old and frayed at the edges like it is part of the building's original design.

Instinctively, he reaches for his hip, feeling the cool metal of his standard Government issued firearm that he's had since he joined the Service all those years ago. It calms him, reassures him that he is in charge and can and will do anything to get his way. The small piece of metal resting on his hip is the only backup he needs.

He exits the car and heads into the antique bar. It's nothing special, wooden walls, floors, and an ancient bartender to go with it. There are a few men in a corner, nursing broken noses and black eyes.

Yeah, he thinks, this is definitely the right place.

"We're closed," the bartender grumbles at him and he doesn't take it personally. She was here and apparently made a mess of things. The old man has had enough to deal with already. But that's never stopped Pete.

"I'm looking for Mark Johnson," he says matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes on the old man. He doesn't miss the recognition, fear, and then hatred flash through the man's eyes.

"You just missed him," he practically barks at Pete.

He nods in understanding. It's all part of the codes spoken to the ghosts. She got the case and left already. There's no other job that needs done here, so leave.

But he doesn't budge. Instead he turns his attention to the men cowering in a corner with cold beers resting against their fresh wounds.

"When did she leave?" He asks easily, making eye contact with the brown haired one that has been keeping his unswollen eye narrowed in suspicion throughout the conversation.

"You a friend of hers?" He grunts back, trying and failing to stand. He slouches back down but keeps his anger in full view.

"No," he says. The word rolls off his tongue without hesitation. Because friends don't go almost two years without a word to each other. Because friends don't run and hide. Because when he really sits down to think about it – and he hates doing that – friends are not what he and Myka are anymore.

The man across the bar, sitting in pain that he probably deserved from his not-friend-anymore stays silent for a few long seconds. Pete knows the man can't tell whether he's being lied to or not. The person standing calmly in the middle of the room has learned to bury his emotions, lock them in a box and throw the key into a raging river. Because emotions only leave you hurt. And in his job, he can't be hurt, he can't be emotional or he'll die or be maimed by an unimaginable artifact, or he'll run away.

And since he'd very much like to stay where he is, his face is blank and stoic and unreadable. But the wounded man across the bar must not care or just still be drunk enough to take his simple declaration of 'not friends' as enough. So he answers, "Couple hours ago. She was gone when I woke up at least."

Pete glances at the bartender and the old man nods his agreement. And with that, Pete leaves the battered patrons to lick their wounds and wish they never lay eyes on outsiders again.

Outside, the rain remains a torrential downpour, creating small streams on the muddy walkways and soaking him within seconds. Any trace of his former partner is long gone with the changing scenery. He only has his instincts to follow now.

Pete sits in the car silently; the sound of heavy water on metal pounds in his mind, over and over, a never-ending chaotic drum beat. He almost misses the achingly familiar buzzing of his Farnsworth.

"Lattimer," he answers as the black and white picture of his boss comes into focus.

"Anything?" Artie asks mechanically. To an outsider, his tone is something near clinical and emotionless and maybe a bit bored. But Pete has known this man for too long, knows him too well, to miss the subtle tells - the rapt attention on the screen in front of him, holding his breath for fear of missing a significant word, even the microscopic lilt at the end of the question. He's hiding his anxiety, hope, disappointment, and tension behind an indifferent face.

Pete looks away from his boss's pixelated gaze and shakes his head. "No, she's gone," he says with a touch of anger. It's not the first time they just missed her and he doubts it's their last. She's gotten better at staying off the radar; something she undoubtedly picked up from the other Drifter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Artie slouch back in his plastic chair, gravity pulling his exhausted bones farther from the dimming hope of success. The man sighs loudly and rubs at his greying goatee. "Alright, keep in touch," he adds heavily.

"Kirk out," he says impassively and the screen goes black.

Short words, quick conversations, straight to the point. His ritual farewell the only thing that lets Artie know he's all right. That he doesn't have a gun to his head or is bleeding out and needs medical attention. That he's still emotionally and physically fit to continue on his mission.

Minutes later, Pete starts the car and turns onto the narrow and desolate road; his eyes scanning what little distance he can see through the wall of rain for any clue of his former partner.

.:.

A few miles down the road, blue and red neon lights on a large vacancy sign slice through the downpour like a beacon to catch his eye. He pulls into one of the many empty parking spaces in front of the one story motel and cuts the engine. His headlights illuminate a red scratched door with the number 4 hanging crookedly by a nail and for some reason, he thinks _here_. She was here, for one night or a week, he can't be sure but she was here.

He braves the rain once more and stands in front of the door. As he rights the number with a pointed finger, a thought floats on the edges of his mind to ask at the desk for the key but it's so small and insignificant that it fades into non-existence before he even realizes it was there. Unclipping his gun from the holster, he tries the doorknob and it twists slowly without resistance.

He pushes open the door and raises his gun in one fluid, practiced motion. The light from his car seeps through the open door, casting hard shadows around the Spartan furniture and along the papered walls. He searches the room and its tiny bathroom within seconds, finding it bare and empty. Lowering his gun, Pete takes a breath and searches the room again, this time more thoroughly.

It's a routine he goes through every time, searching and not finding. Not a hair, nor piece of clothing, not even a map that says "I'm going here, next." And in the dim, flickering overhead light, he almost misses it. Almost.

On one of the old pillows, there's a hair. Long, dark, curly and thanks to a familiar feeling rushing through his body, tightening his muscles and coiling around his stomach within seconds, he knows it's definitely Myka's. For the first time in months, the corners of his lips curl upwards. He is finally on the right track. Stashing the hair in a small baggie to send to the warehouse for official DNA analysis, Pete leaves the small room behind.

He marches the short distance toward the motel office, eyes set on the silhouette of a man dozing in his chair with a lit cigarette hanging off the end of his lip.

There's a small, rusted bell sitting uselessly on the desk in front of the man that Pete overlooks in favor of plucking the cigarette from the old man's lip. But before he can even lift his arm, the old clerk chuckles.

"Bit late for a booty call," he rasps. His voice is wet and cracked, that of a lifetime subscriber to Marlboro.

"You saw her then?" Pete asks skeptically. The clerk has yet to open his eyes.

"I see everything, boy." His mouth warps into a smug smile.

"Sure," Pete says, rolling his eyes. He's tempted to challenge him with why the man didn't say anything when he just waltzed into her room, but in all honesty, he just doesn't care. "Which way did she go?"

The man makes a noise that Pete thinks is supposed to be humming but sounds more like a gurgle. "What's it to you?"

Holding in his frustrated sigh, Pete draws his gun and places it easily on the desk, his annoyance more than clear.

"Just tell me where she went," Pete nearly growls out, tired of these games he's been playing for the past few months.

The clerk finally cracks open his eyes and it takes him a long second to spot the weapon pointed directly at him. The old man sputters out a cough and his cigarette falls to the floor when Pete's intentions finally set in. "I don't – I don't know what you mean, boy," the clerk rasps out nervously. "What did that girl ever do to you?"

"I won't ask again," the younger man states, his finger moving from the safety position to the trigger.

The clerk watches with wide eyes and Pete can see the rusty wheels turning in his head. The choice of who gets to live: the girl the younger man's after for an unknown reason – who he has never met – or himself.

"West," the clerk gurgles before clearing his throat. "She went west. Towards the border. Few hours ago, back before the storm hit."

Pete backs off instantly. He knows the man is telling the truth because he knows deep down, people are selfish.

.:.

It isn't until the sky lightens and the dark red orb reflects off his rear view mirror that he realizes he hasn't slept all night. It doesn't feel like it, he feels fine actually, but he's smart enough to know that it's probably adrenaline; that for once he's sure the tip Artie got last night was valid and he's now only a few hours behind his former partner is what's keeping him awake. But he also knows he'll crash soon. He needs some shut eye.

He pulls over onto the dirt shoulder and cuts the engine. If not the most comfortable place to sleep, his large nondescript SUV is where he feels safest. So he unbuckles his seatbelt, shifts a little and closes his eyes.

What might as well be seconds later, his Farnsworth startles him awake.

"Lattimer," he answers without even looking at the screen because it's Artie. It's always Artie.

"Where are you?" His boss asks, noticing the static scenery behind his best agent.

"Just inside Colorado," Pete answers, staring out at the barren landscape through hazy eyes and absently wondering when it got so bright out.

"Good. Myka's popped up on the grid." He says it so easily that Pete nearly shrugs it off as a horrible joke. But then the words make their way through the guarded walls of his mind and he thinks it's too good to be true. After months of searching to finally find a hair and then this?

"Where?" He asks when his voice comes to him. He clutches the steering wheel in front of him in a vain attempt to slow his rapid, excited pulse.

Artie lets a knowing smile grace his features because he is feeling the same nervous excitement miles away. He almost couldn't believe it when his computer beeped at him this morning to issue a facial recognition match – 96 percent positive – of one Myka Bering walking the streets of Denver, Colorado.

"She's in Denver, Pete" he replies and nearly chuckles as Pete hastily puts his truck in gear and pulls off. "Keep in touch and be careful."

Pete nods, his eyes narrowed in rapt determination. "Kirk out," he replies before the screen goes black.

.:.

The more she thinks about it, the more she wants to smack her head on the faux retro table in front of her.

This was stupid. _You are stupid-pathetic-careless. _

This is a trap._ Of course it's a trap. They lured you here with a few words and you grabbed at it like a starving fish. No, you're a moth drawn to the flame. Hoping that light at the end of the tunnel isn't an oncoming train until SPLAT. _

_They got you. They're probably outside right now making a perimeter if they aren't laughing their pants off at your stupidity and their brilliance. How easily you walked into the diner. Just like that._

Just like –

She jumps out of her self-hatred when her order is placed in front of her. Cheeseburger and fries. Not original nor her usual healthy choice but she's starved and it was the only way to get a booth seat in the crowded diner – by promising to buy their famous burger.

She stares at it for a minute, her appetite melting away like the goopy cheese on the crispy brown meat. But despite her self-loathing, her stomach grumbles in the anticipation of a filling meal and she gives in.

And _God_, it really is all it's cracked up to be. Myka's eyes flutter shut involuntarily and she has to fight to remember why that's a bad idea. Forcing them open she inspects the changing patrons around her burger. There are families swarming the booths, couples holding hands and a few stragglers busily chowing down on their own burgers at the bar. Everyone _looks_ normal but she knows better. Her instincts tell her to watch the singles on the bar stools; the middle class worker, the man in a suit, even the aged man styling a plaid shirt. Any one of them could be a Regent.

Finishing her burger faster than her taste buds prefer, she glances at the clock. She's slightly – _completely_ – vexed that her contact is a no show. Well, it's only ten minutes past the meeting time which a few years ago would have meant traffic or waiting on Pete to get his hands out of the cookie jar. But now every minute counts. Every second she spends stationary doubles her chances of being spotted, of being ID'd by cameras, of running into a Warehouse agent.

She's spent too much time sitting here, out in the open, in the middle of a crowded diner where everyone is a suspect. All for an off the wall tiny chance that there actually _is_ a way to save Hel-

The cheery old waitress places a slice of warm pie in front of Myka, effectively halting most of her rapid thoughts.

"Here you go, honey. One slice of our homemade apple pie," the waitress informs the younger woman with a genuine smile. "And here's your bill, whenever you get the chance."

She hands over a single sheet of paper and Myka reflexively reaches out for it even as her mind tries in vain to remember if she ordered the pie or not.

"Have a good day, dear." Myka stares after the woman for a few seconds before turning her gaze to the dessert in front of her. Just like the rest of the food here, it looks amazing. But she snaps out of her momentary stupor and quickly stands to leave.

As she digs into her pockets for what little cash she has, she glances at the bill. The small scrawl on the paper seems somehow unfitting to the older waitress but before she can think anymore on it, she notices the total amount. _There's no way a burger, fries and apple pie cost _that_ much, _she thinks even as she registers what she is paying for.

_502 Wallas Way_

An address. And the total is the time. There's a millisecond of confusion before all hell breaks loose in her mind.

The new address. _There's still hope. _

The apple pie. _I smell apples._

The no show. _There's a threat nearby._

The bell above the diner's front door dings just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the crowds. But it's enough for Myka to snap her head up in attention and then stare in disbelief.

Right there in the doorway, not thirty feet from her, stands Pete Lattimer. His gaze quickly jumping from one patron to the next in a military fashion. He's searching for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry guys. I keep having spontaneous trips out of the state without my computer which is killing my ability to update in a timely fashion. But I hope this chapter makes up for it. Enjoy. **

* * *

**Black Boots on a One Way Street**

**Chapter 3**

_The bell above the diner's front door dings just loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the crowds. But it's enough for Myka to snap her head up in attention and then stare in disbelief._

_Right there in the doorway, not thirty feet from her, stands Pete Lattimer. His gaze quickly jumps from one patron to the next in a military fashion. He's searching for her._

_...  
_

Myka ducks out of sight quickly and heads for the bathrooms in the back of the diner, relying on the crowds to cover her exit. It was a mistake coming here; she knew that from the moment her most recent car broke down just inside the city limits. The euphoric daze that followed her from the state border dissipated in her first two steps away from the smoking car, leaving her feeling paranoid, suspecting of every person, car, and animal that crossed her path.

And apparently with good reason, Myka deduces as she squeezes between two bustling customers laughing up a storm, oblivious of the anxious woman behind them. She elbows her way through and glances back with a mumbled apology. But she doesn't look at the two chortling customers; instead she risks a glance at the man near the door. She knows it's probably a bad idea but she's already broken practically all of her rules so what's one more?

In a split second, she takes in the same short-cropped brown hair, the same defined chin, the same creased eyes. He still looks like Pete. Myka blinks back traitorous tears and forces herself to notice the subtle differences – his stoic stance, his hard muscles, and the blankness in his eyes - because that isn't really Pete. At least, it's not the one she remembers. Playful and forgiving Pete is gone. Her partner and best friend is no more.

Myka holds in a gasp as hard brown eyes meet her green ones. _He's changed_, she reasons as he immediately stalks towards her, shoving ignorant patrons out of his path. _He's changed and now he's after you so God dammit, run!_

She rips her gaze away and runs into the restroom. It's too small for the amount of clientele the restaurant receives and there's barely enough room for Myka to climb the farthest sink to reach the tall window. But her years as an agent have left its mark; within seconds she is level with her only escape. She has to bang on the glass a few times before the frame budges and without looking back, she climbs through.

The loud crack of the wooden door against the wall echoes in the small room as she leaps to the ground. He is only a few feet behind her but no matter how much or how little he has changed, his larger build will take him longer to get through the window. Even so, she takes off running as soon as her feet touch the ground.

She rounds the nearest street corner, expertly dodging oblivious city walkers. Her feet pound against the sidewalk. Adrenaline courses through her body at every aching heartbeat urging her body to move faster, faster until she can no longer hear her former partner's footsteps and heavy breathing behind her. She zigs through busy streets and zags across empty alleys until oxygen becomes painful to inhale. Eventually she slows in another side alley and ducks behind a large dumpster, just in case Pete is closer than she thinks.

She gives herself two minutes. Two minutes to catch her breath and gather her scattered thoughts. Pete is here. That means Artie knows and if Artie knows, then the damned Regents are more than likely informed as well.

Keeping her head low is a necessity now because everyone is a suspect and, at the risk of sounding like a schizophrenic, out to get her. With her breaths now just a painful reminder of her survival, she glances down the alley. And is pleasantly surprised to find it isn't just an alley.

On either side of her, along the dirty cement walls are tiny boutiques and thriving underground businesses. Each selling its own merchandise, books, scents, shoes, clothes. It's one of those unknown communities you can never find unless you already know about it, or are running for your life and stumble upon it by accident.

Myka eyes the clothing shop; changing her outfit is the best chance she has for getting out of the city undetected and by the looks of things, the price range is probably slim to none.

Less than ten minutes and forty dollars later, Myka exits the small store wearing her old black pants and shoes with a newish red long sleeved shirt and a tan jacket. Her hair is tied in a ponytail, low enough for her to cover her face with a brimmed knit hat, and her Tesla remains in the waist of her pants, hidden under her jacket. A new messenger bag is slung over her shoulder only holding her old clothes and clutched in her hand is the nearly forgotten note given to her by the waitress.

502 Wallas Way.

It's probably a trap, Myka immediately thinks and suddenly feels like a broken record. But then why send her to the diner if they're just going to tell her to go somewhere else? Last meal, maybe. No, the Regents aren't that noble. It had to be a warning, that she was seen, that Pete was near. Myka sighs and closes her eyes briefly, hoping beyond hope that the eternal headache she seems to have will fade away.

Although it stays as present as ever, the brief pause allows her to calm slightly, and think a little more rationally. She doesn't have enough cash to hail a cab out of the city, let alone a plane ticket out of the state, and as good as she's gotten at hotwiring cars, she's still hesitant of committing a felony in broad daylight. With her head low and eyes scanning every face she passes, Myka makes her way towards the address on the crumpled paper.

.:.

Myka leans casually against a cement wall and stares across the street at the small house. It's a rundown building that once might have been homey. Now the old white siding is peeling at the edges and the door is an unattractive hue of faded red. One of the three wooden steps leading to the door is broken and from what Myka can see, the other two look as if termites have recently had their fill.

It's quiet here, at the city's edge. So far not one person has even spared Myka a backwards glance and unless they're hidden in the dark lampposts, there seems to be no cameras to spy on her. It's probably one of the few truly anonymous places in the entire city.

Straightening her shoulders, Myka pushes off of the wall and strides over to the house. She hops up the stairs with athletic ease and doesn't even try to look through the dirt grimed and dark windows. There is no doorbell so she knocks a few times to announce her presence. The sound seems hollow and her mind immediately pictures what's behind the entrance: nothing but a broken wooden floor.

The door swings open quickly to reveal a dark haired, tan woman sporting a black leather jacket over a dark band tee and skinny jeans. Her stance is balanced, defensive, alert. Her blue eyes narrow in suspicion as Myka reflexively reaches behind her for her Tesla – this girl isn't whom Myka is expecting. Just as Myka's long fingers grasp the handle of the old Tesla, the girl finally speaks.

"What do you want?"

Myka pauses. Her voice is dark and raspy, as if she hasn't spoken for days. She doesn't move from her position, half hidden by the door, but her tone suggests Myka is expected. Chancing a glance over the girl's shoulders, Myka doesn't see any backup, any help, any light at the end of the tunnel. The girl is alone.

Slowly lifting her hand from her Tesla, Myka reaches into her pocket and grasps the crumpled note.

"I was given this," she says, holding out the paper.

The girl's eyes fly over the written scrawl in record speed and then flick back up to Myka's face.

"You're early," the girl states matter of fact.

"I could leave," Myka shoots back and then a heated silence fills the space between the two. Myka watches without mirth as the corners of the girl's mouth curl slightly and Myka realizes it's just another game. She should just leave now, just go and forget this whole experience. But when it comes down to it, Myka finds herself unable to move. Unable to fulfill her threat and the girl seems to notice – if her now obvious smirk is anything to go by.

The girl takes a side step back, opening the doorway to Myka, and gestures her inside. It's a game, Myka thinks again, and she lost. Thinning her lips, she storms inside.

The house somehow seems smaller on the inside despite the bleak furniture. There is a blanket thrown over a ratty couch along the far wall and an antique television sitting haphazardly on top of a table in front of it. Through a doorway in the back, Myka can barely make out a dirty oven and what looks to be a refrigerator, neither of which looks operational. The fire in her stomach is suddenly quelled by something like pity – the motels she'd stayed at were bad but never on this level.

"Don't worry," an achingly familiar voice says behind her, "I don't actually live here."

Myka turns to see none other than Claudia Donovan standing in front of the recently closed door. She's wearing the same outfit as the girl Myka just met, her attention on a tiny piece of silver in her hands.

"Harriet Tubman's thimble," Myka states but it comes out more like a question.

Claudia flicks the thimble in the air and snatches it mid-fall. "The one and only."

"But I thought all the artifacts were destroyed," Myka says, disbelief etched on her face.

"They were." Claudia states as she strides towards the kitchen. "Good thing I like to keep a few on me at all times, huh? Jack and coke?"

"Just coke," Myka answers without conscious thought – she's too busy going through the dusty lists of artifacts in her head, trying to figure out what "few" the red head could possibly be talking about.

Claudia disappears behind the back door and Myka hears the fridge squeak open. She takes the opportunity to look a little closer at the tiny home Claudia has acquired. The only things that aren't currently dilapidated are the red head's laptop and a small pile of papers sitting next to the important piece of technology on the couch. Myka recognizes the scrawl written on the papers as the same that was scribbled on the waitress' note. And just like on the note, there are addresses listed in bullet form. Just how long did Claudia expect Myka to keep trying to meet with her if this address didn't work out either?

A light creaking noise behind her causes Myka to turn suddenly, as if she were snooping in Claudia's room without her permission. Myka catches Claudia's swift glances between the papers strewn across the couch and herself and suddenly feels exactly that. "I was just –"

"Find the place alright?" Claudia asks instead, forgiving Myka's curious eye. She holds out a can of soda and Myka takes it graciously.

"Yeah," she answers shortly. She may not be sure how to act around her old friend yet but she isn't ignorant, the small talk is just a façade. Nevertheless, she takes advantage of the awkward conversation to study the younger woman with a diligent eye. Just like Pete, the years haven't left any grand physical marks on her. Her hair is still red with a black streak blended into the side and she still prefers a plethora of jewelry hanging around her neck and on each finger. But Myka can see the changes in her eyes. Anger and vengeance sit heavy in her dark orbs, a thin veil over her sorrow.

"I haven't been here since… we found Sam's killer. But it's still the same place."

Claudia takes a long gulp of her drink before replying. "Yeah, figured as much. That's why I chose here. Easy for you and everything."

Claudia's assumption that she is unable to navigate an unknown city is the last unsteady card that tumbles the fragile house of cards. Irritation suddenly bubbles to the surface and she snaps at the young girl.

"What the hell am I even doing here?"

Claudia's eyes widen in surprise. Her whole body stiffens minutely but she relaxes so quickly Myka almost thinks she imagined it. When the red head doesn't reply right away, Myka sighs and turns away.

"This is ridiculous."

She moves across the small distance to the door. She has no clue where she's going to go, probably somewhere east, or south, or north. Just _away, _she decides, anywhere she can purge this absurd memory from her mind.

"So you're just going to leave?" Claudia asks, no little amount of resentment buzzing around the wooden room. "We're so close, Myka."

The agent stops and breathes out fumes. "So close to _what, _Claudia?" She turns suddenly, her eyes burning into the young woman's. "Bringing her back? How the hell are we supposed to do that?"

"If you'd just let me explain!" Claudia bites back quickly.

Silence fills the space between them. Heating the tension to almost unbearable levels. Myka's so aggravated and furious and tired. She just wants… she doesn't even know the end of that sentence. H.G.? The warehouse? Her family? A quiet life? Everything to be the way it was. Before the explosion. Before Sykes.

A laugh bubbles to the surface unwillingly. But it's not one of humor; it's rather painful and heartbreaking.

"Fine," she resigns, crossing her arms over her chest. "Explain it to me, Claudia," she asks calmly.

The red head nods slightly, a tiny movement of her head but enough for Myka to see. She takes a breath; calming her own nerves, before dragging up old, sore memories.

"You and me both know there are artifacts out there that are crazy powerful. Most have bad juju attached to them – that's why we used to bag and tag them and stash them away, never to be seen again, right?"

Myka nods slowly. Claudia's lips curl just the slightest, taking Myka's participation in stride. "But there are some that don't. Have dark sides, I mean. We used to use some of those at the warehouse to fix things every now and then." Claudia pauses, excitement shinning in her eyes. "And we always kept the important ones safe."

Slowly, Myka lets her arms drop by her sides. The ease at which Claudia can talk about that place surprises her. Every single time she even thinks about it, a tight ball of nerves clench in her stomach, forcing her off the subject. And her departure wasn't nearly as awful as Claudia's. For her to bring up those memories…

"What are you saying?" Myka ventures, eyes wide.

"I promise you, I can bring them back. H.G. and Steve," she says, swallowing back tears. Suddenly, Claudia clears her throat and straightens, as if just realizing how anxious she looks. "I just need some help. From you," she adds evenly.

Myka blinks, clearing her own vision. She's only seen Claudia like this – desperate, determined, and one hundred percent sure – twice. And both times she was right.

But she also risked everything she had then, including her life and freedom. And now she's putting not just her life at stake, but Myka's as well. Not to mention something much worse: that dangerous spark of hope. The risk is unbearably high. "Why can't you do this yourself?" The older agent forces herself to ask.

A shadow falls over Claudia's face for a second before it clears and her eye's fall to the ground. She seems to be debating with herself and Myka stays quiet, deciding not to pry. Claudia shifts slightly and when she speaks, Myka holds in a shocked gasp. Her voice is quiet, resigned, and damn near depressing. Nothing close to the snarky, bitter responses she usually hears from her.

"I need you because… I already tried to bring him back, Myka. I tried and I couldn't – I didn't… I just failed," Claudia finally meets Myka's gaze and the pain is so palpable and honest, Myka finds herself believing every word. "And then, all this crap happened," her eyes roam the room to mean _this_, "and everything just… got more complicated. I need a second person. I need you. And you need me… Please, Myka."

There is a long, treacherous minute of silence before Myka finally nods in tenuous understanding. "Okay," she breathes and lets a minuscule smile grace her features.

Claudia mimics her seconds later, and a bit more hesitantly, as if she doesn't quite believe it. But before Myka can change her mind, Claudia moves to gather her sparse things – laptop and papers – into her infamous black backpack.

"We should get going," Claudia says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. All evidence of the previous conversation is gone from her face. "It's not safe here anymore."

"Was it ever safe?" Myka counters, a halfhearted attempt at a joke.

Claudia pauses for a second, searching the older woman's eyes. Myka can only imagine what emotions and information are flying through the red head's mind.

Just as Myka opens her mouth to answer her own question, Claudia replies, "Well it was until you sent up smoke signals to the Regents this morning." She forces a smile in apology at the jab and then just like that she is off, striding out the back door.

Myka hesitates, not for the first time, second-guessing her decision to accept help from Claudia. They've both lost a lot in their lifetimes, Claudia just handles it differently; closing herself off to everyone and everything except her work as her smiles become few and far between while she seeks vengeance where vengeance is due.

Myka brushes her hair back from her face and sighs, that description sounds far too familiar. But instead of wallowing in unpleasant thoughts, she jogs to catch up with the younger woman and figure out what the hell happens now.


	4. Chapter 4

Black Boots on a One Way Street

Chapter 4

_Claudia doesn't know much about earthquakes, the mid-west is more known for wild fires and droughts, if anything. But she knows the basics: tectonic plates shift and create a domino effect, causing the ground to shake and the dishes in the china cabinet to rattle. Usually it isn't a big deal. But when a head-splitting ache turns her world a fuzzy shade of black followed seconds later by a violent tremor, she knows an earthquake isn't the perpetrator. _

_It feels as if the entire town is caving in on itself. The walls and ceiling of the Bed and Breakfast crumble, chairs and end tables upturn, and all of the collected knick-knacks smash to the ground. Claudia instinctively throws her arms over her head as she is knocked to the floor, curling in on herself to protect from failing debris. Her headache spikes as the force of the shockwave jostles her body. Out of the corner of her blurry vision, she spots Mrs. Frederic beside her, unmoving. She must have hit her head on the way down. Leena, always the most balanced one in the group, remains upright, if a little disoriented._

_The shaking finally comes to an end and Claudia's vision clears; the sharp pain is now just a tolerable throb that she attempts to blink away. But then all hell breaks lose._

_As Claudia slowly rights herself, she can hear Leena's cry _– Mrs. Frederic!_ – perfectly clear. She can feel the time pass in front of her, see years go by in seconds as the Caretaker's form deteriorates on the floor steps away. Tears prick painfully in her eyes but stubbornly refuse to fall. She watches numbly as the innkeeper, one of the strongest people she knows, falls to her knees in front of the now mummified Caretaker. _

"_She's gone," Leena whispers through her sobs over and over as if saying it enough will bring her back._

_But it won't. Claudia knows it won't. She experienced – is still experiencing - the exact same heartbreak when she discovered Steve. He is gone too. They always leave in the end. _

"_The warehouse," Claudia says through her hand – she doesn't even remember raising it to her face – and she sluggishly moves it back to her side. Her voice is raspy and thick, fighting past the lump in her throat. Leena doesn't move from her position on the floor, doesn't acknowledge her. Doesn't want to admit this is all really happening._

"_Leena," Claudia says louder, clearer, "that means the warehouse is gone." She reiterates, barely believing it even as it falls from her mouth. Still the innkeeper keeps her swollen eyes on her confidant and her friend. But it doesn't matter. The red head's mind is reeling inward. Thoughts running thousands of miles per hour through her head: Mrs. Frederic is dead. So the warehouse is gone too. Pete, Myka, H.G., Artie are in the warehouse. Her friends, her family…_

_She's all alone. Again. It's all over. And Sykes won. There's no way to save them now, to bring them back. All the artifacts in the warehouse are nothing but ash. Except -_

_Claudia turns her body slowly. Right there on the table, unmoved by the earth-shattering explosion is Johann Maelzel's metronome. All that power. Teasing her. Taunting her._

I'm bringing him back._ She's not alone. She doesn't have to be. She can at least have Steve back. Her hand reaches out toward the old piece of wood and metal but stops inches away when Leena finally speaks._

"_Claudia?" Leena's voice, wet and choked, breaks through her mind numbing stream of consciousness. She sounds confused and anger flares suddenly in Claudia's heart. The innkeeper knows what Claudia is about to do, what she _needs_ to do. She's not that naïve; she's just playing a role. And it's so frustrating that Claudia wants to shake the darker woman, yell and scream and make her understand, make her stop being so motherly and just act like her equal for once. Because then she'd feel the same heartbreak and desperation the red head does now and she'd help solve their problem instead of finding a hidden sensible reason to keep her immobile._

_Claudia tames the beast inside her quickly. It won't happen that easily. She doesn't doubt that Leena can and will try to stop her still. She has to be logical to convince Leena to let her go. So she turns back slightly, letting Leena know she has her reluctant attention. But the older woman stays quiet. _

_Claudia can feel her eyes piercing into the side of her head but she doesn't want to look at Leena. She can't. One glance in the eye and Leena can read her, study her aura, and all in a split second, think of exactly the right thing to guilt Claudia into forfeiting her plan. They stay like that for a few more seconds before Claudia finally breaks. She turns her head, making eye contact with the older woman._

"_I have to," Claudia says and is surprised to hear her voice is even, unbroken. Leena swallows back more tears at the tortured sight of the young agent. She's suspected it for a while now; it just hurts to see it in plain sight. Claudia's colors have changed._

_What was once a deep ocean blue, guarded, dangerous, and loving, is now a violent shade of dark red. One of hatred, anger, determination, and stubbornness. Leena knows the chances of preventing Claudia's plan are slim but that's never stopped her before. Besides, the socially awkward red head is all she has left in this strange and mysterious world. _

"_Don't," she says – _pleads_ – once her voice comes back to her. If she wasn't expecting it, she might have flinched at the sudden pulse of anger, grief, and frustration in Claudia's blood red aura._

How can she say that?_ The thought flies through Claudia's mind unbidden and her anger flares again. Does Leena not understand what is at stake? That Claudia can't, _won't_, give up on her friends if there is even a slight chance? Her eyes flick to the remains of Mrs. Frederic but she doesn't see the Caretaker. She sees death and destruction, pain and an inferno that rips right through her soul. She feels the unfamiliar ache when her heart flutters as panic sets in. All she can see are shadows of her friends fading away in the open – destroyed – warehouse. _

"_Mrs. Frederic is dead," Claudia states, a sound of cruelty slipping into her voice, much like her earlier conversation with Jane. "That wasn't an earthquake, Leena. The warehouse is destroyed. The bomb went off and the warehouse is gone. And everyone inside it," she vents, sensing the pain in Leena's heart but she can't stop. She's too riled up and she has to make sure Leena won't get in her way. "H.G. is gone. Myka is gone. Pete is gone. Artie –" and suddenly it's too much. The tears finally escape. Her fingers unclench as her shoulders sag under a weight too heavy to bear. Her headache returns full force, a dull throbbing expanding exponentially behind her eyes. "Leena, everyone is gone," she finishes with a devastating whisper. _

_Leena's heart breaks for the younger woman and she immediately stands to comfort her. But Claudia sniffs and turns away. "Claudia –" _

"_Don't," Claudia demands, rejecting the innkeeper's security. She runs her pale fingers through her hair as she tries to collects herself. "Don't say it's going to be alright. Because it's not." Leena watches hopelessly as Claudia's shoulders straighten; she has lost the younger girl again. The red head turns back to Leena, her eyes narrowed in determination and her whole body tense with anxiety. _

_Their eyes meet for a few more seconds but it seems as if no more words are willing to form on either end. Finally, Claudia leans past Leena and grabs the metronome. Leena bites back furious and worried tears when Claudia refuses to meet her gaze anymore. _

"_I'm bringing him back," the red head states with enough stubborn resolve that Leena can only watch in apprehension as the youngest member of the family walks out the door._

_She stares at the entrance for a few more moments, wishing it would open once again and reveal Claudia, one hand rubbing her upper arm sheepishly and a small apologetic look on her face. But, Leena breathes out, wishful thinking doesn't fix the warehouse, nor the Bed and Breakfast, or even her life. She can only hope and pray that Claudia finds what she needs, whether or not it is what she is looking for, before the damage to her soul is irreparable._

_She helplessly falls back to her knees in front of her dead friend as the tears stream down her cheeks and her throat aches with each shattering sob. The pain is so unbearable that she cries out in relief after she answers Claudia's abandoned Farnsworth. There on the black and white screen are the battle worn and exhausted faces of her three favorite agents. _

_.:._

_Featherhead. That's where they placed Steve's body after she found him motionless at Skybrook 3. Where they performed the autopsy and found the injection site. Where they left him while the rest of the Regents and agents attempted to deal with Sykes and his plan. _

_It's also where Claudia is going to bring him back. _

_She parks her car on the side of the street, outside of Osiris Automotive. A front, of course, just like the grocery store in Elk Ridge and the IRS warehouse in the Badlands of South Dakota. The location was easy to find; a level four search agent cracked the Regent database moments before Jane attempted and failed to absolve herself of guilt._

_She unbuckles her seat belt and takes a deep breath, calming her tingling nerves. In just a few more minutes, she'll have Steve back. The horrid image of him - cold, defeated, everything the opposite of her Jinksy - will merely be a bad memory. He'll be alive, saved from his pointless and wrong death. There's only one obstacle left: whichever Regent is the owner of this automobile shop._

_Clutching the wooden metronome in one hand and her mini-Tesla in the other, Claudia makes her way toward the small town auto store. She deftly hides her weapon behind her leg as she passes an older gentleman exiting the building; he gives her a gentle, ignorant smile, she merely nods in return. She follows him briefly with her eyes, allowing them to ghost the vacant surroundings before entering the store._

_There are shelves along either wall and down the middle of the shop filled with the usual ambiguous car accessories. Claudia spots two doors in the back, one leading to the garage and another to some type of storage room. She eyes the second door a few moments longer, which is more than likely where the secret Regent hideaway is. _Where Steve is_, Claudia thinks with a silent excited gasp. She then turns her eyes to the clerk behind the register sporting the tiny Eye of Ra symbol on his tie. He is already staring at her with a hidden knowledge – like he knew she was going to come. But Claudia doesn't care if she was expected; all she cares about now is getting into the back room and finding Steve._

"_Can I help you?" The undercover Regent asks lightly._

"_Cut the charade, please," Claudia scowls slightly at the stoic man in front of her. "You know who I am and I know about you. I want to see Steve Jinks," she states firmly. _

"_I don't know what you are talking about," he says evenly. He gives Claudia his best poker face and it only frustrates her more. _

_Her lips tighten as anger flows through her bloodstream but she keeps her cool, for now. "Is there some type of Egyptian code I have to say? I just want to see my partner."_

_Again, the Regent remains the epitome of annoyance. His lips stay together in defiance and Claudia's fingers itch around her mini-Tesla. She blows out a frustrated breath. Steve's just a few feet from her and this robot is keeping her from him._

"_Miss, if you don't need something for your car, I suggest you leave," the Regent states, tone so rank with superiority that Claudia scoffs. She always did have a problem with authority. _

_She lifts her mini-Tesla and aims it at the man. She nearly smirks when emotion finally crosses his face but she won't say it is a victory, not until he reveals where Steve is. "I don't know if you are out of the loop, but in case you didn't know, everything has gone to hell. I'm just trying to help my friend." Claudia informs the man. Her voice is calm and dangerous and the man takes notice._

_There's an indescribable glint in his eyes before he finally nods his head. He glances quickly at the metronome clutched in Claudia's pale hands and she jerks the Tesla slightly, gesturing him to move. Claudia keeps it trained on the man, not trusting him, as he moves from behind the counter to the back. _

_The jingle of his keys rings loudly in the empty store as he unlocks the plain door. He takes a step back once he's finished and Claudia stares at the entrance. _This is it._ She won't be alone again. Steve will be back once and for all. Everything will be okay._

_A glimmer of a smile lights her face but she's come too far to mess it up now. "You first," she demands of the Regent. For all she knows, there could be an endless pit right behind the door. She's not about to run into an unknown room and hope for the best. It didn't turn out great the last time that happened. _

_This Regent seems to be of the smarter sort and doesn't question Claudia's demand. Instead he opens the door and enters the small room. Readjusting her grip on both the Tesla and the metronome, Claudia follows slowly._

_The room is small and much cooler than the main store with extra supplies lining the walls. There seems to be some type of in-wall storage in the back and another door to who-knows-where in the corner. But none of that is what's causing her heart to plummet to the ground and excruciating heat to flood her veins. _

_No, Claudia's unwilling and livid attention is on the two people standing in the center of the small area. Through the sudden haze of red, Claudia can see the look of pity and disappointment on Doctor Caulder's face and something that could be grief and anxiety on Kosan's. Though she's seen the doctor's concern before, she's never seen anything except supreme arrogance radiating from him. It is fairly upsetting._

_Claudia's extended arm falls limp at her side. Hopelessness swiftly latches onto her heart and tears it to pieces; replacing the void with anger, hatred and a discomfort she's felt only a few dreadful times before. What else could possibly go wrong?_

"_Miss Donovan," Kosan greets, his face clearing and his signature smirk reveals itself. "I can assure you we are not out of the loop and we are well aware of the fate of the warehouse."_

"_Then you know it's destroyed. That we lost," Claudia says bitterly. She squeezes the metronome in her left hand, letting the wood indent her fingers. The pain gives her a too brief reprieve from the throbbing in her head. But it's not nearly enough and all her repressed frustration erupts at the maddeningly calm people in front of her. "The warehouse is gone! Why are you still here? Why don't you just – you don't have a job anymore! You have no more responsibility to it. So just let me…" _

_She's panting now, raving, nearly in hysterics because no one understands. Why don't they understand? Everything is gone. Her family, her friends, her work, and her home. All gone in a ball of flames. There's nothing left. Why can't they just have half a heart and let her be content? What the hell kind of right do they have to keep her from happiness?_

_If she were clearheaded maybe she could figure out someway to convince them to bring Steve back. But her headache isn't helping matters. Her thoughts are clouded, hazy, highlighting only the injustice given to her. Nothing she is saying is helping her case. She can see Doctor Caulder talking now, worry lines etched into her face. And soon her vision blurs as well. But that's probably because of the tears collecting in her eyes._

_The doctor looks scared enough that her words are most likely important to the situation at present and it's all Claudia can do to concentrate on what is being said. "… It can be rebuilt. You're distraught right now and not in the right mind with good reason but you're needed–"_

_The doctor cuts off when she sees Claudia shake her head firmly. Her vision blurs more and her headache protests the movement but Claudia doesn't care. She's not planning on driving anywhere anytime soon so seeing straight isn't her top priority. All she cares about is Steve. _

_When she finally stops moving, her eyes slowly focus on the doctor's feet. _

"_I just want him back." Her pride hates that her voice cracks pitifully but the remaining logic in her head thinks maybe, maybe one of the two in charge will grow a heart and move out of the way to let her have her wish._

_Kosan and Doctor Caulder stay silent for a few moments for reasons unknown to Claudia. She dares to hope they're changing their minds but when she looks up, she knows she lost before the word even leaves Kosan's mouth._

"_No," he says with a shake of his head, finally crushing Claudia's already broken heart under his shoe like it was a disgusting beetle. _

_But, as if destroying her heart was the fuel to the unforgiving flame, Claudia's entire body tenses. Her grip on the mini-Tesla tightens and she locks eyes with Kosan. How dare he stand in her way? What gives him the right to decide who lives and who dies? What makes him so superior? _

_Fury emanates off the younger woman and she smirks as disbelief crosses both Kosan and Vanessa's faces. She presses the trigger on her mini-Tesla, charging it to full power. She's going to do it, she has to. She's come so far and is so close to him. She can't just walk away now._

_Taking a heavy breath, Claudia raises her Tesla but suddenly a sharp hit to the back of her head causes stars to erupt in her vision seconds before everything turns black._

.:.

Myka has no clue where they are headed. Maybe to another of Claudia's safe houses because they certainly can't just stroll out of the city undetected. With that thought, Myka instinctually glances upwards and spots a camera leaning off a tall building. She ducks her head again, using the brim of her hat to cover her face. Next to her, Claudia walks casually along, oblivious and unworried of the fact that their every move is undoubtedly being scrutinized on the Warehouse computers.

"Claudia, where are we going?" The older agent asks when Claudia's nonchalance becomes too irritating.

Claudia lifts her arm and studies the watch on her wrist before answering. "A few blocks that way," she points to the left. Myka follows her hand and sees nothing out of the ordinary, just more city walkers and convenience stores lining the streets. If they are meeting someone else, they know how to blend into city life. Claudia drops her arm and turns her gaze to the older agent, taking in her hunched stance and over alert eyes.

"You look like your guilty. Didn't anyone ever tell you the best way to stay unnoticed is to act like you own the place?"

Myka raises her hidden eyebrow at Claudia's chastising tone. "That doesn't really work when people are looking for you on cameras." She nods to one of the many that they've passed so far. Claudia just smiles.

"You don't have to worry about the cameras." Myka narrows her eyes, trying to figure out the younger girl. "Promise," she smirks, unconsciously readjusting her backpack. For some reason unknown to Myka, she accepts that Claudia knows more than her and she's just going to have to be okay with that for now. Seeming to sense the brunette's trust, Claudia turns forward and continues to practically strut down the sidewalk.

The next few blocks consist of awkward attempts at small talk. What do you say to someone you haven't seen in roughly two years? Commenting on the weather almost seems insulting when the stranger on the street was practically your sister. With Myka, it's a lot of short, vague answers while Claudia seems content to talk her ear off. But, Myka notices, in all the words spewing from her mouth, Claudia not once reveals what she has been up to. She's just as vague and cryptic as Myka.

When they turn a corner, Claudia is still rambling about a new band she discovered recently named something like The Dirty Jacks and Myka has had enough. Cutting right into Claudia's monologue, Myka finally asks the question that's been sitting anxiously in her mind since she first saw the red head. "What are we supposed to do now, Claudia?"

Claudia's voice fades and her animated face sobers as the question sinks in. She turns her head away for a second, as if searching their surroundings and when she finds what she is looking for, she faces the older woman. Their eyes meet and the entire world falls away from them. Myka suddenly feels vulnerable in front of the young woman, as if Claudia is looking straight into her soul, sizing her up, deciding whether to abandon ship now or continue with her mission.

Myka stands a little straighter and keeps Claudia's gaze, she never was one to back down from a challenge. And suddenly, the seriousness is gone from Claudia's face and she smiles a manic smile. "Funny you should ask that now," she says with glee. "What you have to do right now, right this second," she pauses and Myka can't help herself, she's hooked. What does she have to do?

"Stop me," Claudia says, her smile disappearing.

What? Myka frowns, beyond confused. Stop her from what? Saving everyone? Doing the thing she promised? Is she changing her mind? Before Myka can even start reaching for any answers, Claudia's hand disappears in her backpack and reappears quickly, clutching her prized mini-Tesla.

Confusion and anger at her betrayal hits Myka hard and the world returns with a disorienting force. Myka braces herself for the inevitable shock and pain of the electricity but Claudia turns away. Pointing her Tesla at someone behind her.

Myka barely has time to react. Claudia pulls the trigger, charging the gun, and Myka finally sees what – or rather, whom – she is aiming at. Moments before the gun discharges Myka sees him.

Pete. He's standing half a block away, eyes locked on the glowing end of the tesla. She barely registers his tense muscles as if instinctively bracing himself for the impact. _No, stop!_ Myka thinks as she forces her body into action. She knocks Claudia off balance, the Tesla shot firing uselessly into the atmosphere. Claudia falls to the ground with a grunt and Myka glances back to Pete. Wide eyes meet confused, dark ones as both agents seem stuck stationary by indecision.

But before she knows it, Claudia's small hand is clutched in Myka's, pulling her back the way they came.

"Come on, run!" Claudia urges the brunette. Myka's stiff limbs slowly begin working as adrenaline courses through her body. She doesn't know what just happened. Only that Pete is behind them, his body moving at the same rate as Myka's, and they are being pursued.

Myka almost loses Claudia when she makes an unexpected turn down a small alley. She follows, hoping and wishing that the red head knows her way around the city and that this isn't a dead end.

Myka skids to a stop in front of a motorcycle. Claudia is already seated on top of it and deftly tosses Myka a second helmet. She kicks starts the engine and glances back to the unmoving older woman. Through her own helmet, Claudia yells at Myka, "Use it or lose it! Come on." Although urgency drips from her voice, Myka still hesitates.

This is her last chance to say no, to forget the past few hours and act like Claudia Donovan isn't offering her a way to get H.G. back. Claudia knows it too but won't say it aloud. Because hearing it out loud means its solid, true. Turning around now will be painful and hard, but turning back later will be unbearable.

"Myka!" The red head yells, making sure the brunette doesn't get lost in her thoughts. The longer she waits, the closer Pete gets and the less chance they have of fulfilling their wishes. It's now or never.

With a firm nod and fluttering of her heart, Myka takes her seat behind Claudia and not a moment too soon. Pete sprints around the corner to see nothing but screeching wheels and the backs of his former friends hurtling out the other end of the alleyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys, sorry for the delay. Life tends to get in the way. I just wanted to update before the premiere tonight. Which I am SO EXCITED for! haha**

**Also, I really appreciate all the reviews, favorites, and alerts! Means a lot to me. :)**

**All right, without further ado, chapter five. Enjoy. **

* * *

**Black Boots on a One Way Street**

**Chapter 5**

When Artie accepted his job at the warehouse all those years ago, he didn't really have a choice. Well, he did, there's always a choice, but they weren't exactly the greatest ones a person could ask for. Either join the team at the mysterious building or be arrested for unforgivable crimes against the United States and Russia, which would lead to life imprisonment or execution, depending on which country got their claws in him first. He chose the warehouse and a life of secrecy, ancient protocols, and unexplained occurrences that he lives with everyday. And so after all these years, Artie's learned not to be surprised when something or someone unexpectedly enters his line of sight.

He senses it first; the air around him fizzles like a nasty storm forming at top speed. The hairs on the back of his neck rise in anticipation and the feeling of someone watching him is nearly overwhelming. He's not sure when his senses became so heightened but he is happy for it – keeps him on his toes, alert and aware of everything. He sees them out of the corner of his eye; a large dark shape at the end of his vision that he used to disregard for a scowling Mrs. Frederic, here to warn him of dire consequences should he continue to let his agents have their way with certain otherwise safe artifacts. But, those days are long gone.

Turning his head, he holds in his exasperated sigh. They are both here, standing feet from him with straight yet grim faces. Whenever they both show up, there's new information to be discussed. And it's usually the bad kind. This time though, he knows he is the one with the report and a part of him hates what he is about to say.

"Myka's in Denver. And so is Claudia," he tells them, his tone heavy but not sorrowful or regretful, nor joyful. Just weighted down by something like exhaustion.

He hates the shocked, relieved, excited expressions that light up the Regents' faces. And how quickly they morph into hard lines and jagged smiles. He imagines the thoughts, the plans, the executions forming quickly in their heads. And he despises it.

The two Regents glance at each other, hundreds of calculations and ideas exchanging in a tiny second. Silent and infuriating to Artie, who sits patiently in his plastic chair like a child waiting for his parents to decide if he can have the sugar indoctrinated candy that's been taunting him for hours.

Jane's the first to look away, not because their silent deliberation is complete, but because her legs give out. Faltering and fluttering for a chair, Kosan steadies her with a firm grip on her arm as Artie jumps to action, giving up his seat to the ailing Regent. Jane sits heavily and a grimace scrunches her face as she readjusts, attempting to find comfort in a chair specifically designed for Artie's spine, not hers. She eventually breathes out a shaky breath and Kosan stands staight once again; a minor hiccup in the grand scheme of things, and nowhere near enough to deter them from their plans.

"I gather Agent Lattimer is in route," she asks with her recovering strength, already knowing the answer.

She turns her gaze to Artie as he also stands straight and clears his throat. He doesn't question her label for her own son; it helps her keep her professional life separate from personal, Artie reasons, even if the truth is so much more complicated.

Artie nods. "He found Myka at a local diner. Except, uh, she spotted him first and gained enough of a head start to disappear."

They are quiet for a tiny second before a smirk smears onto Kosan's face. "But you followed her on the cameras," he says, and it's so patronizing that Artie puts his thirty plus years of experience with these people to good use and keeps his glare minimal.

Blowing out steam through his nose, he nods again. "Until she stopped showing up."

He pauses then, not really wanting to explain how Claudia managed to loop several _hundred_ street cameras in the area for a few hours. Giving her and her accomplice a way out. His gaze flicks between Jane and Kosan, wondering if they'll figure it out or make him admit that Claudia really is better with technology than he'll ever be.

Luckily, Kosan seems to work things out in his head, if the slight squint of his eyes are any indication. A few seconds later, Jane has the same reaction. Artie always thought there had to be some type of mental connection between the Regents. All their secrets and silence. This only confirms it for him.

"From now on, one of us will be a part of this investigation at all times," Jane orders. She stands slowly, using the desk as a crutch. Neither man hurries to help her, knowing without being told that she doesn't want the assistance. Once fully on her feet, she reflexively straightens her suit jacket. "Hopefully, in due time Agent Bering and Ms. Donovan will be brought home and this nightmare will be over."

Jane makes eye contact with Kosan and he nods his consent. He'll take first watch, Artie figures, as Jane walks out of the room.

Artie cringes inwardly as Jane's last words reverberate in the large office. _Home_. The word just doesn't sound right coming out of her mouth. He glances at the white walls and clinical, technical and not-homey-at-all room surrounding him and idly wonders why. This isn't home anymore. It's just his workplace.

.:.

They cut through the air like a knife through warm butter. The wind pushes back against them, failing to stop their dangerous crusade through busy city streets. Claudia swerves between cars and buses with practiced ease, and never once running a red light. Myka latches onto the girl's stomach in front of her, putting her trust and her life in someone else's hands for the first time in years. And, though Myka won't admit it, it feels good to not be responsible for once. To be dangerous, unpredictable. To be free.

"Myka?" The red head's voice cuts into her mind and for a second, she is confused. But then realizes her crackling voice is coming from the two-way communication units jerry-rigged into the helmets.

"Yeah?" She replies and notices she's talking to the back of Claudia's head.

"The Janis coin," Claudia mentions and Myka is suddenly glad that Claudia can't see her face, see her apprehension, her almost inebriating excitement and then debilitating despair. "Two heads."

"It's useless," Myka denies instantly. Not caring if her hurt or pain comes through in her voice. She's thought about that coin millions of times over, running scenarios constantly in her head where everything turns out differently. _It transfers a person's consciousness from their body. _But it doesn't matter anyway. H.G. was in her own sleek, agile body when the warehouse was destroyed. She's nothing but ash now.

Myka doesn't realize Claudia's slowed down considerably until the blurry faces of passersby become clear and recognizable. It's almost as if Claudia is fortifying herself for the fallout of what she is about to say, like Myka will consider jumping off a moving motorcycle because her idea is so farfetched. Or maybe it's easier to concentrate on what she is saying when she's not driving way beyond the safe speed limit? Myka smirks mirthlessly, bracing for the inevitably difficult discussion ahead.

"By itself, yes," Claudia chances and she can feel Myka' grip on her stomach tighten just the slightest. For some reason, it gives her the strength to continue, even as Myka's mouth goes painfully dry.

"When H.G. went into the Escher Vault, she didn't just take back her locket…she took a ring too. Some research later, I realized it was Yousuf Karsh's ring. A famous photographer back in the early nineteenth century who's known for capturing people without their masks on, whatever that means. Anyway, it basically takes a copy of a person's physical body and stores it. H.G. and friends snagged it after they realized some guy –who was supposedly in his nineties - didn't look a day over twenty. He was using it to copy his image." The story triggers Myka's memory. She's read this case file before, right after she had her own humbling phase as an old lady in Milan. "Now that I think about it though, doesn't make sense why Mrs. Frederic and Co. let H.G. keep it. They had to have known what it does…" Claudia trails off in thought as she leans to the side, turning a corner.

Myka takes the breather to swallow the information. H.G. could have acquired it in her time and… decided to keep it. It's definitely something she would do.

"But the coin," she croaks, "H.G.'s consciousness was already transferred back into her body. The coin is empty." If it's still in one piece and not just another tragedy of the heat of the explosion.

"Whenever you delete something from your email, is it gone forever? No. You have to go into that annoying and pointless trash bin and delete it again. And even then, if you know where to look, everything is still there… The coin, and the ring, they leave imprints, records. You just have to know how to get them back into the inbox so you can re-download them."

"And do you?" Myka asks, belief like a flickering candle light in an empty cavern. Ever since that blasted ferret popped out of a wishing kettle, Myka lives and works based on one fact: nothing is impossible, just highly unlikely. But this…this seems damn near impossible. Using a coin and a ring to reimage, rebirth, and revive H.G. Wells…

"Yes," Myka hears through the crackling earpiece. One word, plain and simple. One hundred percent positive in her ability to resurrect the dead. And Myka believes her.

A real, truly genuine smile graces her features then, and the whole world looks brighter for it because a plan is finally forming in the agent's head. Things seem easier, more approachable and achievable to Myka when there is a solid plan behind it and a plan B in place behind that. Details, logistics, facts; Myka revels in them. She's barely scratched the surface of the complicated girl in front of her and her strange plan, yet her heart feels lighter already.

But then she remembers the other part of their deal. "What about Steve?" she asks.

Claudia's back tenses and her stomach clenches beneath Myka's grip. She can feel the uneasiness oozing off of her and wonders if that was what Claudia felt from her seconds before revealing the most important part of their plan.

"The metronome," Claudia's voice finally fills Myka's helmet. She holds back a flinch. Claudia's voice is dark and determined, nothing she's ever heard before from the awkward red head. "It reanimates dead cells. Keeps a heart beating," she finishes shortly as if reading from a scripted notecard.

"But what if…" she doesn't finish the question. It seems absurd to even think it but again, anything is possible. Instinctively, she blames Pete and his incessant need to watch C-rated horror films on a nightly basis for the thought but quickly pushes away that unstable train of recklessness. She decides it's just her syntax that brings it up, because really, reanimating dead cells sounds a lot like _zombies._

"His cells will regenerate," Claudia assures her – practically scolds her for thinking she'd let Steve come back anything other than perfectly okay. "Everything that's been lost in the past few years will reverse. He'll be fine. He'll be alive."

She goes quiet and an uneasy tension fills the minimal space between them. But Myka pushes on; if they are going to work together, awkward pauses and uncertainty have to become minimal if not absent completely. "Is this what you've been doing all this time? Looking for a way to bring him back?"

She tightens her grip as Claudia speeds up and takes another corner sharply. Myka suddenly wonders if Claudia has a destination in mind at all, or if she is just driving because it's therapeutic to her. She decides it doesn't matter, this conversation is hard as it is, she can't imagine experiencing it on the solid ground, face to face.

"The Regents lie and manipulate to get their way," she says coolly. "They knew it was possible to save Steve and H.G. all along. But did they tell us?"

Myka doesn't answer. She doesn't have to anyway; it's a rhetorical question. Because of course they didn't. They do what they think is right for the warehouse, no matter who gets hurt in the process. It's why they didn't stop her leaving after the Yellowstone incident, and why Mrs. Frederic used H.G. to bring her back only months later. For the greater good.

Rage and vengeance suddenly flare up in Myka's heart, feeding hungrily off of Claudia's anger. Isn't that why they left two years ago? Stupid, pointless killings, lies, secrets, pain. And for what? So an inanimate building can stay standing. So artifacts can stay hidden. So loved ones can stay dead.

"What do you need me to do?" she asks, fully aware of the gravity of her choice. Right at this moment, she'd do whatever is necessary to change their fate.

Hidden by her helmet, Claudia lets a satisfied, almost vindictive smile cross her features before she speeds up even more.

.:.

It isn't until Claudia fully explains her plan that Myka understands why she made her save Pete from an unexpected and unwanted Tesla blast.

"I'm just supposed to walk back there and what? Say sorry?" Her eyes are wide with disbelief but a small part of her thinks it is kind of funny, in a sardonic sort of way. _That's_ what Claudia needs her to do? Does she not realize how absurd that is? That her relationship with the warehouse and its employees virtually diminished overnight?

"They'd believe you over me," Claudia states simply.

Myka's mouth closes abruptly. She's right, of course. Still.

"It's not going to be that easy. I can't just waltz back in there."

Sure, Claudia planted the seed of doubt in Pete's mind with her little stint but an instinctive reaction isn't enough to brush away two years of silence, of defiance, of running.

"It's the only way," the red head articulates, her voice still light. "The coin is in there."

"And the metronome." Myka is quick to put in, reminding Claudia she hasn't forgotten her side of the deal.

Claudia nods solemnly. "And the metronome," she agrees.

Myka exhales heavily. The plan is feasible. But it's dangerous and risky, even overlooking the distrusting feelings of everyone who currently works there.

She leans back over the cement chess pieces scattered on the board in front of her. Horrible memories float to the top of her mind, ones of uncertainty, fear, and near death experiences, trapped underground in some forgotten Regent Sanctum. But breathing deeply, she reminds herself that they're not imprisoned in darkness and she's not inhaling the appalling scent of dust mixed with fresh blood. No, they're sitting in an old chess park in the middle of the city; their motorcycle abandoned ten blocks away. Although out in the open, it's a beautiful, peaceful place and just crowded enough to blend in with other regulars.

She studies the board and settles to move her pawn forward one square. She flicks her eyes up and around at everyone in her immediate range of sight. It's a habit she's grown into and not necessarily a bad one, but the way the old men immersed in their own games ignore the two women, Myka can't help but think Claudia has earned the title of "regular."

Claudia takes her turn, moving her queen to take out Myka's pawn. And, Myka notices, she turns her wrist just slightly to check the time on her watch. Out of curiosity more than anything, Myka asks, "Are you late for something?"

She nods towards the watch after she moves her knight into a check.

Claudia shakes her head and takes in her surroundings for the first time. "Not really. It doesn't work like that anyway." And instead of moving her king out of the line of fire, she goes on the offensive, taking out Myka's knight with a swish of her almighty queen.

Myka raises her eyebrows. "It's an artifact?" She squints to take a closer look. It's an old watch, large, metal, with scratches covering the entire glass face.

"Second hand starts spinning if there's danger nearby. Minute hand points where it's coming from." Claudia picks up her wrist and taps on the face with a finger. "Not really sure what the hour hand does. Been stuck on two since I put it on."

"Is that necklace one too?" She jokes because she doesn't know what else to say. Chiding Claudia's use of so many artifacts seems like the appropriate thing to do. It almost feels normal. Claudia smirks at her but refuses to answer, probably because it is and probably because that's not the only other piece she has in her possession.

And those artifacts are probably what are going to help them succeed on this mission. The thought forms suddenly in Myka's mind as she turns back to the game and stares at the pieces.

As smart and studious as she is, she's never going to win. Claudia gives Artie a run for his money and wins half the time. Chess, a game of infinite possibilities, strategies, and patience was never her forte. Now give her something with words; puzzles, riddles, and she'd conquer all.

So she looks up and stares at the younger woman instead and really takes her in. She looks tired, emotionally more than physically, and something more. Something like a broken heart. Or a betrayed heart. She looks a little – a lot – like she did when they first met all those years ago. Except without the ecstatic and beaming smile plastered on her face from the success of saving her brother. This, Myka muses, is probably what she looked like right before Pete and she crashed the party.

"If you're going to take a picture, let me know so I can photo bomb it."

Claudia doesn't even look up, instead moving one of Myka's pieces for her. A bishop to take out her queen – something Myka didn't even notice.

"I'll keep that in mind," Myka comments with an amused smile, not fazed at all at being caught. But then she sobers slightly and asks, "How are we going to get them to trust me?"

Claudia knocks down Myka's bishop with a flick of her devious pawn and says something that reminds her of the tech's seemingly omniscient abilities. "Did you ever get the address for Mark Johnson?"


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm horrible for making you wait this long. I've veered into that "I'll update when I can" territory that I promised myself I would never do. But moving across country kind of takes precedent over writing fanfiction. But never fear, this story is all outlined and the next 2 chapters are practically written out so there should be quicker updates from now on. **

**With that said, everything that happens in this story was planned before season 4 started so any resemblance between the show and this story is an awesome coincidence - not that there is that much overlap, maybe a line here or there. **

**Anyway, thank you for sticking with me. Enjoy Chapter 6!**

* * *

**Black Boots on a One Way Street**

**Chapter 6**

_Previously:_

_"I'm looking for Mark Johnson."_

_"She's in Colorado."_

_"I thought all the artifacts were destroyed." "They were. Good thing I like to keep a few on me at all times, huh?"_

_"We are well aware of the fate of the warehouse." "Then you know it's destroyed! That we lost. You don't have a responsibility to it anymore so just let me bring him back!" "No."_

_"The Regents lie and manipulate to get their way. They always knew there was a way to save Steve and H.G. but did they tell us?"_

_"What do you need me to do?"_

* * *

When they reach Sterling, the sun is merely an orange whisper in the darkening sky. At Myka's insistence, they recycle the motorcycle for something more comfortable along the way. Besides the fact that her body was beyond cramped in the unfamiliar position, Artie and the Regents would be on the lookout for the two-wheeler and its passengers.

"2773 Lynnwest, right?" Claudia asks from next her, her gaze flicking up from the computer screen on her lap.

Myka nods as the old information fights to the front of her mind, past the thick and relatively new plans regarding the next forty-eight hours.

Claudia, sensing her friend's apprehension, decides to completely ignore it. It's not a solid plan, she'll admit only to herself, but that's what the backups are for, and the contingencies behind those. "Take the next right and it'll eventually be on the left."

Myka does as she is told, silently scanning the house numbers for the correct one.

Claudia taps a few more keys and a new screen pops up. "Says here the Bradley family bought the house a year ago. An alias, of course. Miranda, Frank, and Timothy," she tilts her head to the side in thought. "Wow, not sure I would have gone with those names but, hey, whatever floats your boat."

Myka smiles at Claudia's obvious attempt to imbue some sense, however little, of normalcy into their lives again. "They probably didn't have a long time to think about it, Claudia."

"Okay, I totally get the whole 'blending into the crowd' thing, but really?" Claudia raises an eyebrow. "At least think of something from a recent decade. Leave the fifties in the past with the way-to-much-hairspray and puffy skirts."

"Puffy skirts?"

Claudia shrugs noncommittally and is spared a response when the numbers 2773 catch her gaze. "Hey, there it is," she nods to a modest, two story home. It's a neutral colored house that irrefutably blends in with the neighborhood. "All they need now is a white picket fence," Claudia mumbles.

Myka parks across the street and sits back. "There's a car in the driveway," she spots. "Someone is home."

"Time to greet the neighbors?" Claudia asks with false cheer, brandishing Harriet Tubman's thimble between her fingers.

"Looks like," Myka replies, taking the thimble in her own hand. She slips it on her pinky finger and gasps when her chest tightens and the air in her lungs disperses in a matter of seconds. Myka blinks a few times to regain her bearings, her line of sight is much lower; she can barely see over the dashboard.

"So, how do I look?"

Claudia smirks. "Like you shouldn't be the one in the driver's seat."

Myka tries not to let the fact that she has to reach farther to adjust the mirror bother her too much. Especially since the image looking back at her is already wrecking havoc on her comfort zone. Because no matter how much anyone believes otherwise, Myka has never been a girl scout.

"Chop, chop," Claudia nudges the older - younger - woman out of the car and scoots over to the driver seat. "I'll be right here if you need anything," she adds in the voice of a proud mother. But despite the airiness, the meaning is all the same. _If you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming in Tesla's a blazing. _

Myka rolls her eyes in her best annoyed prepubescent but strides off across the perfect lawn nevertheless. With a swift glance back at the inconspicuous redhead and her slender thumbs up encouragement, Myka plasters a convincing smile on her face and rings the doorbell.

It takes a few minutes, in which Myka has to fight to keep her smile from drooping too much, but the door eventually cracks open.

"Hi, I'm Laura from Trope 42 of the…"

Her cheery voice dies out slowly as she takes in the rugged version of a familiar face standing before her. His hair is longer, the ends draping over his eyes and brushing the collar of his shirt. He must have gotten contacts because his dark blue eyes are clear as she's ever seen. She stammers a few times at this untimely surprise and uses every ounce of strength not to turn around and draw attention to her younger companion who, Myka is hoping, is not freaking out right now across the street.

"Are you alright?" The younger man asks, shoving his hands self-consciously in his jeans pockets.

"What?" Her new childish voice squeaks out and too late she realizes she hasn't blinked in a few long seconds.

"You're staring," he says with a tiny amused smirk. "Are you selling Girl Scout cookies or something?"

"Um, yes." She agrees with a quick nod and then covers herself by throwing out an embarrassed smile. "I just, I think I forgot the forms back over…" she waves somewhere to the right, hoping he doesn't follow her random flailing. "Sorry to bother you."

"Okay," he drawls the word out at the puzzling girl in front of him. She forces a smile again, then quickly spins on her heel and takes off.

His eyes follow her path down the sidewalk and then flick left and right in a practiced check of his surroundings. His eyes fall on short red hair in the driver's seat of a dark sedan. But the car and its driver are down the street before he can get a good look. He shoves away the spike of excitement rushing through his body because there is _no way_. Finally shutting the door, he pushes this memory to the wayside.

Down the road, Claudia slows the car to a stop next to the young Girl Scout who hops in the passenger seat without a word. Myka inhales heavily as she reverts to herself and Claudia pulls off once again, taking a right wordlessly.

Myka looks at the redhead and ventures forth into the emotional abyss. "That was –"

"Todd, yeah," Claudia confirms quickly. Then suddenly she smirks and lets out a despairing chuckle. "I've been saying it for years, but _damn_ does my karma suck."

Myka's lips quirk in response even as she desperately searches for a silver lining in the dark cloud forming over her partner's head. "At least now we know who the target is."

Claudia nods as her face drops into its well-used mask of detachment. Myka holds in a sympathetic sigh. Can they ever catch a break, just once?

"And if I'm right, there's one person who has had it out for him since we met.

"John Conti," Claudia says, the name dripping with venom. A shadow falls over Claudia's face for a moment and the memory of finding her just hours after Todd's relocation climbs to the front of Myka's mind. Tear stained and emotionally shut down, the redhead only revealed her thoughts on the matter once; in a shuddering whisper, she promised to _fix it_. But Myka never figured out exactly _what_ she planned to fix, because that was the night of H.G.'s reinstatement; the night everything changed for all of them and things like a broken heart became trivial.

"Here, switch with me." Claudia parks, jumps out and rushes around the front of the car in one hasty move. Myka, quickly reacquainting herself with the hurried thoughts and actions of the younger genius, slides into the driver's seat with ease.

"Keep driving around for a few minutes," Claudia orders the older agent as she settles in and pulls out her computer once again. "I'm going to hack into Conti's system and see if there's been any suspicious activity recently."

"I.E. anything suggesting he knows where Todd is," Myka clarifies for her own sake.

"If there is…" Claudia pauses as though trying to decide how she really feels about the wild situation. "Then he must have done something stupid."

Anger it is then, Myka thinks silently. "Either way, we need to find out who's coming after him and when. Then we just have to get him out of here before that."

Claudia's fingers remain at top hacking speed while her brain goes into overdrive. "Slice o' pie."

Myka drives around the neighborhood for a few minutes with only the tapping of keys to keep her company. The gas tank eventually forces her to park at the top of Todd's street. Every now and then, she glances over at Claudia's progress but despite the younger girl's lessons years ago; it's all gibberish to her.

Myka is pulled out of her daze by a sudden lack of clicking noises. Claudia's fingers have stopped but her gaze remains on the screen. "What did you find?"

"Conti is good, or well, bad," Claudia says, eyes still attached to the screen. "Todd is better but, not to toot my own horn," she stops abruptly.

Her eyes shoot to the agent and her breathing hitches slightly. Myka's heart pauses painfully, on sudden alert as the red head's eyes narrow and her face scrunches in disgust. "Oh, ew. Don't _ever_ let me say that phrase again."

Myka blows out a breath and debates smacking the girl on the back of the head for scaring her like that.

"And?" She prompts when Claudia shows no sign of getting over her language misdemeanor.

"Looks like Todd decided it was a good idea to hack into classified files," Claudia explains lightly. "The same ones Conti's men were attempting to get into. Sometimes it's easier to track another person than hack into government files," she adds at Myka's raised eyebrow.

Myka nods and Claudia glances back the computer. "Once they realized they were tracking Todd, well…" she shrugs heavily, "two birds, meet one stone."

"So they're on their way here? Any idea their E.T.A.?"

"Couple of goons," Claudia answers, "shouldn't get here 'til late tomorrow morning, possibly early afternoon if they stop for grub. Which they probably will, if they're human, which I _really_ hope they are."

Myka smiles and settles a little more comfortably in the car. They've got some time then to perfect the escape. "Ever been on a stakeout?"

Claudia smirks, "Please. I don't know about you but I would like to sleep in a real bed tonight. Let me see the thimble." She holds out her hand for the piece of metal still clutched in the older agent's.

"What are you going to do?" Myka hands over the artifact cautiously and watches with an attentive eye as Claudia digs into her bag for something.

"Bingo," Claudia pulls out a device that looks much like a golf tee with numerous wires attached. If Myka didn't know any better, she might have thought it was a high-tech piece of dynamite.

"I call this…" Claudia frowns slightly. "Well, I haven't gotten around to naming it yet. Been busy, you know. It's basically a tracker slash motion detector. It'll let me know if there is any movement throughout the night."

Myka stares at the proud smile on Claudia's face. Despite her qualms, she trusts the girl to know what she is doing, especially if it means both of them can catch a little shuteye later.

"All right," Myka finally agrees, letting Claudia know she trusts her to stay away from Todd for now. "And the thimble?"

Claudia turns her gaze to a utility van parked down the street.

"Back in a sec," Claudia slips the thimble on and doesn't even slow down as her stature shortens and widens significantly.

Myka bites back a smirk as the once skinny and tall girl wobbles out of the car. "That's the look you chose?"

Claudia pauses and looks down at herself. "I always wondered what it was like to be the Penguin."

Less than an hour later, Myka and Claudia stand still in the doorway of a decent hotel room.

"I call the bed," Claudia says, snapping out of her momentary stupor.

"I don't think there's a futon," Myka casts a dubious eye at the two chairs across the room and severe lack of a couch.

Claudia pauses again and then lays her laptop on the bed. "I call the window side," she clarifies.

"Right," Myka mumbles as she drops her bag at the foot of the bed and does her routine check of the room. It's a nice size place. A single bed and bath, with two chairs near the locked window and a television balanced on a dresser opposite the bed. Claudia booked it on the ride over with a credit card that did not have her name on it and apparently the concierge didn't comprehend her single request of _two_ beds.

Myka eyes the shower a little longer than someone just checking that there is one would. A nice, hot shower would be amazing right now. To just feel clean and relaxed would do her a world of good. Even with her nose in her computer, Claudia notices.

"You should get some sleep," she says. "Take a shower. The next couple of days are going to be hectic."

Myka opens her mouth to toss the words right back but stops. It's clear that Claudia doesn't take the best care of herself, but arguing is the last thing Myka wants to do right now. Right now, she wants to get clean and rest because no matter how much she hates the thought, she knows sleep is going to become even more of a distant friend very quickly.

When all is said and done, with the only light in the room emanating from Claudia's laptop, Myka lays down on her side of the bed and lets the sound of computer keys lure her to sleep.

.:.

_Heat, excruciating heat. It burns through the protective field and into her heart, melting it and destroying the part of her that for one small moment, she thought would finally be content. No, more than content. Blissful. Euphoric. Loved._

_But instead it burns. Searing her skin and torturing her soul. It's the worst possible pain. And it's happening to her. _

_When the blue field dies out, Myka flinches, barely keeping from falling and letting the tears take her into oblivion. The smell of torched metal and wood pollutes the air. Smoke and ash dance tauntingly around them, twinkling slightly in the intense rays of the sun. The sun, Myka thinks and looks up. It's blindingly bright but she doesn't look away because she can see it. She's standing in the middle of the warehouse floor and she can see the orange ball of light clearly, she can feel the uncomfortable heat reflecting off her skin. The warehouse is gone._

_Pete's voice sounds unbearably loud in the burnt and broken room, lamenting his own revelation. They lost, he says to Artie, but they all know he is speaking only for himself. To ground him, keep him from crumbling and being blown away by the wind like the piles of ash littering the surface. _

_Something inside Myka breaks when Artie doesn't respond. She doesn't know what she was expecting; reassurances, encouragement, hope? Hell, she'd take a feeble attempt at a joke. Something, anything, to take her mind off the empty space. Her eyes catch on a particular opaque spot just a few feet in front of her and a cough – sob – escapes her throat. _

_They lost._

.:.

Myka inhales sharply and opens her eyes. The room is darker now and quieter, although there is still an eerie glow radiating from Claudia's side of the bed. It casts dull shadows around the room, letting Myka's eyes adjust quickly. She spots the half closed computer on the night table, still running some program even as the redhead in question lays beside her, seemingly asleep. Exhaling deeply, Myka scrubs at her eyes, finding them surprisingly dry. Not the best dream she's ever had, but not the worst.

"Mykes?" Claudia's soft voice startles her slightly.

"I thought you were asleep," she replies just as soft. Claudia opens her eyes easily. Even at this late hour, it's clear she's been wide-awake the whole time.

"Just resting," she shrugs. "Staring at a computer screen for hours isn't exactly healthy."

Neither is staying awake all night, Myka thinks silently. She hums her acknowledgment, having nothing to say.

Claudia turns her body to lie on her back, the glow from the computer outlining her profile but concealing her expressions from the older agent. They are quiet for a few minutes and Myka lets her eyes slide closed.

"When Joshua was gone," Claudia starts slowly, her tone one of someone finally exposing their deepest, darkest secrets. Myka's eyes snap open. "I used to have dreams. Nightmares, all the time. That he was calling to me. He would tell me he was trapped and needed my help. But I didn't know what to do. And then when I did…"

Myka held her breath, afraid to move because Claudia _never_ talked about her time before the warehouse besides little sarcastic tidbits here and there. This, well, this was something else. Something deeper.

"I was alone," Claudia finally exhales to the ceiling. The shadows around her face bend as her lips quirk and she looks into Myka's glassy gaze. "I…I guess. Just, thanks." _For helping, for being here, for not thinking I'm crazy_, she doesn't say.

Myka swallows away the lump in her throat. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise."

She doesn't know why she says it. She can't promise that, she has no clue if everything is going to work out. But the smile that she receives from Claudia isn't forced or jaded. It's a honest-to-Goodness grin and Myka's heart breaks a little bit. It reminds her how young Claudia still is and that sometimes, you just need someone else to be the strong one.

Claudia lets out a breathy laugh and rubs quickly against her eyes. "Right, well. Tomorrow's a big day and all."

"Better get some sleep," Myka finishes with a tiny shake of her head. The redhead's ability to change tracks in a blink of an eye is unparalleled but the glance she gives Myka before turning over is all the reassurance she needs that this conversation isn't a dream. And that together, they'll figure it out.

The next moment Myka is aware, the waking sun shines through the small holes in the curtains, casting streams of light in the darkness. Across from her, Claudia seems dead to the world, sleeping atop the covers in her jeans and t-shirt and not bothered at all by her hair spilling across her face. Her breathing is deep and even, probably the first time in a while she's slept unhindered.

Myka doesn't move for a while, loathing to wake the woman from her much needed rest and begin the never-ending day. She waits until the room brightens enough on its own for her to navigate without busting a toe on an ill-placed piece of sturdy wood. But her thoughtfulness goes unnoticed when the redhead stirs as soon as Myka sits up.

"What time is it?" Claudia asks, her voice thick with sleep.

Myka flicks her gaze to Claudia's computer for the answer but there seems to be no clock in sight. Instead there is what looks like a broad map of Colorado with two blinking lights slowing moving toward each other from opposite directions.

"I'm not sure," Myka finally answers, reluctant to tear her gaze from the screen. "Are those lights Conti's men?" She asks, her curious gaze studying the continuous movements of the blinking red and purple lights. "How did you do that?"

Claudia spins on the bed and faces the map, her grogginess apparently long forgotten. "They're closer than they should be," Claudia says more to herself than Myka. With a flick of her wrist, the laptop snaps shut and the redhead turns her wide eyes back to the older woman. "They're only a few minutes away from Todd," she finally explains.

In a heartbeat, both women scramble for their light possessions. But something in from the back of Myka's mind causes her to hesitate. "Both of those lights are Conti's men?"

"That's what I was doing last night," Claudia replies, her voice strained as she reaches under the bed for her discarded jacket. "I used surveillance cameras to find and track those goons. Now they're closer than they should be and we _have to go!_"

Her last words bounce strangely around the bare room like moths desperate for the light but weary of its heat. Myka represses the spike of panic in her chest. There is a high chance they are about to be outnumbered and an emotional, irrational partner is not going to help things.

"Claudia, if there are going to be more people there than we anticipated –"

"Then we should get there and out first," Claudia supplies urgently as she scrambles towards the exit. "We have to go. Now!"

Even if the trust between them is fragile and a hairlines crack away from falling to pieces, the last thing she wants is for anyone to get hurt. Checking that her Tesla is prepped and charged, Myka follows the girl into the fray.

* * *

**I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story. It means tons to me and I'm doing my absolute best to make sure you don't have to wait this long for an update again. Thanks!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Black Boots on a One Way Street_

_Chapter 7_

Over the years, they've both learned and nearly mastered the art of avoidance and running. Myka thinks Claudia is better at it than her. She's been doing it for longer, has more experience, and knows how to literally delete herself from virtual existence. Myka is an amateur in comparison; using the knowledge gained from the naive bureaucracy of the Secret Service to stay off the radar. Mostly successfully and few heart pounding unsuccessful times that she doesn't like to think about.

But, Myka reflects, it seems when it comes to matters of the heart even the best can falter and tumble down the windy and dangerous path of unrequited love.

Claudia is halfway out of the car before Myka grabs her arm. The redhead comes to a trembling halt and Myka is only half surprised when she is met with resistance.

"Think," Myka warns, her voice low and serious. She's in full agent mode and Claudia is clearly not. They cannot go into Todd's house guns raised and ready. They may be two capable women but they are a long way from being a SWAT team.

Claudia seems to come to the same reluctant conclusion. She falls back into Myka's grasp but her muscles are taught and ready to spring as soon as the agent loosens her grip. "We don't have time, Myka," the redhead says as calmly as possible. "They'll be here any minute."

As if on queue, a dark car encasing a few butch men turns on to the street. The morning sun reflects off the shiny exterior and for a moment, Myka is blinded.

"It's now or never," Claudia says over her shoulder, her dangerous tone causing the hair on the back of Myka's neck to stand on edge. Myka blinks through the spots in her vision and hopes the flash in Claudia's challenging gaze is just a trick of the light.

"Let's go," Myka says, releasing Claudia's arm. They exit the car together and feign ignorance of the men staring suspiciously between them and the house Todd now calls his own. Together they walk up the cement path that's nestled in the middle of the perfect lawn like a hideous scar on otherwise flawless skin.

Claudia rings the doorbell and waits for their collective anxious hearts to explode in their chests. The door swings open and as soon as Myka identifies the man behind the door, she pushes through the opening. Claudia is on hot on her tail, both ignoring Todd's startled cry of surprise. Right before the door slams shut, Myka sees the men scramble out of their car and head their way.

"What the hell -" Todd starts but abruptly cuts off at the sight of red hair. "Claudia?"

"Todd," Claudia acknowledges shortly and Myka thinks for a second that she is going to hit him. But instead a tiny smirk crosses her features. "Going for the grunge hippie look? Might want to consult your stylist."

"The Marshall said I should change my appearance," Todd explains, tugging self-consciously at his longer hair.

"That's nice," Myka cuts in. "But we have bigger fish." She points out the side window at the two men barreling towards them clutching the guns hidden inside their jackets.

"Come on," Claudia says urgently, grabbing Todd's hand and leading him to the back of the house. Myka brings up the rear. They are almost to the back door when the wooden door slams open in front of them.

Instantly, shots ring out in the small house. Claudia and Todd dive to the right while Myka falls left. Bullets imbed themselves into the painted walls around them. _Three_, Myka's tactical brain shouts in her mind, _there are three of them. _Two in the front of the house and one in the back. All have guns and are not afraid to use them. They should have called in a SWAT team.

Myka climbs quickly to her feet and throws away that last thought. She's been in worse situations at the White House and if the Warehouse didn't prepare her for unexpected circumstances, she didn't know what would. She backs herself against a wall and readies her Tesla, she can only hope Claudia and Todd are okay.

Myka's ears buzz even after the shooting stops and she can feel every pounding beat of her heart through her ribcage. Grabbing a steadying, silent breath, she waits for the third man to enter her line of sight. Broken wood cracks under the weight of his footsteps as he tries to get an angle on Myka. His armed hand comes around the opening first and Myka grabs at it, twisting and bending with so much force that the man cries out in pain and drops the gun. Taking the surprise for all it's worth, Myka expertly kicks the man in the jaw, knocking him unconscious in one blow. She knocks his discarded gun away from him in case he wakes up sooner than later and peeks around the wall for the others.

Meanwhile, Claudia jumps to her feet as soon as she hits the floor, coughing through the haze of falling debris. She pulls Todd to his feet and runs to the next room.

"How did they find me?" Todd's frantic whisper irks Claudia for some unknown reason. Anger bubbles through the pit of fear settling in her stomach.

"Because you screwed up," she turns on him quickly, startling them both to an unbalanced stop. She spots one of the hit men out of the corner of her eye and pulls Todd down behind a couch.

"They tracked me?" He asks, eyes wide and scared. Claudia manages a clipped nod before summoning her courage and shooting her Tesla at the unaware hit man. The electricity scorches his chest and he falls to the ground in an undignified heap.

"Why were you in the Federal database?" She hisses at her former boyfriend, still hidden behind the couch. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"

"I was looking for you," he says honestly and it takes a second for that to squeeze pass Claudia's walls.

"What?" She finally musters out.

Todd looks away again almost in embarrassment and then answers, "You said you'd find me. But you didn't. So I went looking for you."

Fury, injustice, and pain ooze out of her and she doesn't know if she wants to slap the stupid boy in front of her or kiss the living daylights out of him.

"Todd, I -" she cuts off suddenly. Her watch contracts painfully sending stabbing twinges up her arm. The second hand is spinning uncontrollably and the minute hand points to where the other hit man lays unconscious. Swallowing back her fear, she glances up and sees another, huge man towering over her and Todd's hiding place. She barely registers the sneer creasing his scarred face and the direction his gun is pointing before a deafening shot explodes from the end of the barrel.

Intense pressure on her stomach knocks her on her back, her head bouncing nauseatingly off the floor. Cries of pain and surprise erupt from the unsuspecting victims to reverberate around the room. Undefined heat, like nothing she's ever felt before, surges through her body, tensing her muscles and restricting the air in her lungs. Blue light soon arcs across her vision and explodes on the devilish hit man, causing him to spasm like a rag doll until his muscles give out and he falls out of sight.

When the room comes back into focus, Claudia first registers the pain in her wrist: a dull thudding that dissipates with every passing second. And an eerie silence that consumes the atmosphere in the area, contorting it and weighing it down so that even the deep breathing brought from unconsciousness seems too loud.

"Claudia!" Myka finally calls from her stance in the doorway, her voice muffled in Claudia's ringing ears. The agent takes a few cautious seconds to kick away the weapons from the unconscious men in the room. She falls to her knees beside Claudia and checks her pulse, finding it strong and quick and definitely there. Good.

"You're bleeding," Myka says with concern, eyes cast down on the red pool around her abdomen.

"No, I'm not," Claudia utters immediately. She knows it's not hers because she feels fine considering. And the man lying crooked next to her, his arm draped over her stomach as if protecting her even in his sleep, has yet to stir. She sits up in an instant, ignoring the worried agent above her and tries to rouse her old boyfriend. Her first boyfriend. The only one she has ever given her heart too.

His pulse is thready and weak, and every breath he takes in seems to pour out of the hole in his chest. Tears form in Claudia's eyes as she fails to wake him from his unwanted slumber.

"Todd," she cries, "Wake up. Please. Please, don't die."

She puts her hands over the gaping wound and watches helplessly as the dark red liquid seeps through her fingers. It's a feeble attempt to save him and she knows it. But that doesn't stop her from trying. It's the least she can do for the love of her life.

_It's your fault._ The thought lashes through her mind like a whip and she flinches at the truth. It is, she thinks. He was only looking for her and she failed him. She inhales suddenly, halting her tears because she has no right to feel sorry for herself. It is her fault he's dying - _dead._

Myka watches from above with tears in her eyes. This isn't how it is supposed to be. She's supposed to save him. That was the job. That was the plan. Now... she can only do what she was trained to do. Standing, Myka pulls out her throwaway phone and dials 911.

When the line picks up, she lies. "I want to report a shooting at 2773 Lynnwest. I heard gunfire and I think someone is seriously hurt. Come quick."

She snaps the phone shut and pulls out the battery before glancing back at the young lovers.

"Claudia," Myka says, her voice evaporating into the silence.

After a few moments, Claudia stands and Myka internally winces at the blood dripping from her hands. This isn't how it is supposed to happen.

"Claudia, I'm sorry," she says, voice heavy, fighting off the suffocating guilt crushing her heart.

Claudia ignores Myka, instead walking toward one of the hit men and grabbing a dislodged gun. Weighing it in her hand, she spares Myka a hard, cold glance before walking out of the destroyed house.

"Maybe its better this way," the redhead muses darkly, voice barely audible but enough for Myka's chest to contract in alarm.

Although startled, the older agent steels her frayed nerves, readjusts her grip on her Tesla, and gives chase.

"Where are you going?" She calls to the girl she once knew.

Claudia doesn't answer for a few moments and Myka isn't sure if she is going to or if she is waiting for something else. "I've screwed up enough, Myka," Claudia finally calls over her shoulder, not missing a step. "You should just get away from me," she waves her free arm behind her. "Go back to the warehouse. Get out of here while you still can."

"You're giving up?" Myka accuses, disbelief laced in her voice.

Claudia stops suddenly. "No. I'm trying to help you. Save you the trouble."

Myka scoffs, "I'm not just going to leave you alone."

Claudia swings around, the gun in her hand lifting slightly with the momentum. "Alright, fine! I'm tired of people dying around me and the murderers getting away with it."

"Claudia, you aren't..." The question goes unfinished but they both know what she is trying to say. What she can't believe is she's suggesting. What Claudia shouldn't be capable of.

And when Claudia doesn't respond, it's all the answer she needs.

"You can't."

"Don't tell me what I can't do!" Claudia shouts, fury flaring up perilously, burning away the sorrow like they can't inhabit the same space. "My entire life I've been alone and I was fine. The only problems I have are when people like you decide what's good for me!"

"What are you talking about?" Myka asks, completely and genuinely confused. Where is all of this coming from?

"The Regents, for one. Thinking they know everything; that I'm supposed to be a caretaker. That Steve has to stay dead, " Claudia vents, arms flailing slightly as old, hurtful memories claw their way to the front of her mind. "And back with Doctor Mitchner, and the social workers…"

Claudia trails off lost in her memories, unconsciously rubbing at her wrist. The antique watch glistens innocently in the sunlight and something clicks in Myka's mind. The artifacts. She eyes the necklace fastened around Claudia's neck, the watch on her arm, the numerous rings on her skinny fingers. Who knows what they all do, how they all interact with each other? What if they are causing Claudia to have mood swings? To think she is invincible?

"Claudia," Myka hedges, keeping one eye on the gun and the other on her distraught and distant gaze. "How many artifacts do you have on you right now?"

"What?" Claudia snaps back to the present and furrows her brow. Then it clicks; Always the bright one, no matter how emotionally distracted she may be. "You think they are affecting me? Well they aren't," she adds at the expression on Myka's face.

"You don't know that, Claudia," Myka counters. "Let me help you."

"I can figure it out on my own," Claudia states vehemently. "Go home, Myka."

Claudia turns her back and Myka does what she'll later admit wasn't the best idea. She seizes Claudia's unarmed hand to stop her. But as if expecting it, Claudia spins and points the gun at her old friend and is surprised to find herself face to face with the end of a Tesla.

It's a standoff Myka never thought she would be in. Not with anyone from the warehouse, and least of all Claudia.

Tesla against a high caliber gun. Even if Claudia's never shot a gun before, at this range it'd be nearly impossible to miss. But that's not the point. Her Tesla is a threat and that's all. Bark with no bite. Myka could never and would never hurt Claudia on purpose. And she severely doubts Claudia would hurt her either. But intentional or not, when under the influence of an artifact - not to mention multiple artifacts - anything can happen.

_Did you know every former warehouse agent we've known is either crazy, evil, or dead?_

Nevertheless, Myka drops her arm and fights away the memories of H.G. in the exact position. The thought of Claudia becoming jaded and broken like H.G. was leaves a vile taste in her mouth. That's not going to happen, Myka vows, as long as she can help it.

"I'm not crazy," Claudia defends against silent assaults.

"I never said that," Myka responds calmly. "But those artifacts -"

"Are going to help me save Steve! Save H.G.!"

"But at what cost?" Myka pleads. "Are you going to kill yourself to save Steve? Are you going to kill me?"

There's a moment of silence between them. But sometimes silence is louder than an airplane flying directly overhead. This is one of those times. Myka knows what Claudia is going to say before the words fall from her mouth.

"If I have to," she breathes out but finally relaxes her outstretched arm.

Hating the girl's resignation and half admission of bodily harm, Myka risks it all and lunges at Claudia. She uses her momentary shock to wrestle the gun out of the girl's hand. As soon as Myka has a hold of it she tosses it as far as she can behind her and retakes her hold on the redhead's upper arms.

"What the hell is your problem?" Claudia roars as she tries to regain her balance and shrug out of Myka's grip at the same time.

"I'm not going to let you kill anyone, Claudia," Myka declares, intense gaze locked onto the redheads fierce one. "And I'm not going to let you hurt yourself."

Claudia's eyes narrow. Like the idea that she would actually physically hurt someone is insulting. But suddenly, she lashes out, pushing against the agent with all her strength, catching Myka off guard.

"Stay out of my life!" Claudia shoves Myka again, letting her unnamed energy pour through her blood stream, pumping the adrenaline and hurt through her body.

"_You_ called _me_!" Myka annunciates as calmly as possible, absorbing Claudia's rage and hatred and allowing it to morph into sorrow and anguish in her own soul. Claudia never acts out, she never instigates physical violence; she's always the one to clumsily talk her way out of sticky situations. She's changed.

Claudia moves toward her again but this time Myka is prepared for it. She grabs Claudia's arms and tries to subdue her as painlessly as possible. But Claudia fights back. She gets one arm loose and swings her fist with full force. The punch connects with Myka's nose and tears instantly blur her vision. In an instinctual reaction more than conscious thought, Myka throws Claudia to the dirty ground where she lands with an uncomfortable grunt.

A second later, Claudia is on her feet and doing what she does best, running away. Myka grimaces when her hand comes away from her nose covered in blood but the tears falling down her cheeks aren't from the pain. This isn't supposed to happen, she thinks with a tired sigh.

But if the camera pointing directly at her is working, then it will work all the same.


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter is dedicated to those who got on me to update. Here's to you, Guest and Ruaitae. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Black Boots on a One Way Street**

**Chapter 8**

_By the time the three make it back to the Bed and Breakfast, the scope of the warehouse destruction is finally understood. The walls are cracked and parts of the damaged ceiling now reside on the floor. The three stumble weakly over broken wood to reach the dining room._

"_Oh, god," Myka breathes out when she sees a white sheet on the floor in front of them. Someone they love is under that. _

_Pete's the first to move, the others still paralyzed by the death grips clenched around their hearts. He hesitantly lifts the sheet and quickly falls back from the shriveled sight of the Caretaker underneath._

_His horrified expression jolts Myka into action, "What? Pete, who is it?"_

"_It's Mrs. Frederic," Leena's saddened voice informs them. She stands in the doorway behind them with her arms hanging loosely around herself. Although her eyes are dry now, the tear trails are bright against her dark skin. "She fell and then…" her small voice dissipates and her gaze falls to the ground once more._

_No more explanation is needed. Mrs. Frederic is – was - connected to the warehouse, when it went, so did she. _

"_Where's Claudia?" Artie asks, his voice coarse but gentle, the first thing he's said since the explosion. _

_After a heart stopping moment, Leena moves to the side revealing the sitting room entrance. He gives Leena a tiny nod and touches her arm as he passes; a small gesture but from Artie it means a lot _– I'm sorry, it'll be all right, thank you_._

_Myka pulls Leena into a long hug, holding on for dear life like they'd fall to pieces if let go. A moment later Pete joins them, wrapping his arms tightly around the two. No words are exchanged, no false securities. But love, relief, and sadness flow between them like a trapped river bursting through a beaten dam. Eventually, they break apart and share small smiles, finding comfort in the fact that at least they are still here._

_In the other room, Artie finds Claudia lying unconscious on the couch. Her brow is furrowed and her breaths are shallow but otherwise she is deathly still. Artie slows in front of her and kneels to her level. "Oh, kiddo," he mumbles into the air between them._

_His head falls to rest on the cushion near Claudia's shoulder. He takes a tired breath and closes his eyes briefly. Pete said it was over, but Artie is well aware that things have only just begun. What happens next is going to put all of them to the test. And, Artie thinks, none of them deserve it. Especially not the young woman in front of him._

"_Artie," a familiar voice rouses him from his much-needed rest. _

"_Vanessa?" Artie isn't surprised she is here, just not so soon. His heart flutters for a second but this time it's not because he is happy to see her. He wonders aloud why she is here, his voice quiet so not to disturb Claudia. _

_Vanessa takes a few steps toward the older man. A tiny smile curves her lips but her eyes are infinitely sad. She doesn't say anything; the bright green ribbon hanging in her hands is answer enough. Artie's eyes close tightly against a fast forming headache and he rubs away the wetness stinging his eyes._

_Blowing out a breath, he struggles to collect himself. The footsteps of his agents – his friends – get louder as they tread through the wreckage and enter the sitting room._

"_Doctor Calder?" Myka greets, confusion laced in her voice. Her gaze snaps between the doctor, the ribbon, and her silent boss. _

_A breathy laugh escapes Pete. "You guys move fast. Give the Road Runner a run for his money."_

"_What's going on?" Myka asks, feeling the tension rise despite Pete's halfhearted joke._

_Artie stands then, keeping his eyes on the sleeping woman in front of him. _

"_Don't wake her," Vanessa advises quietly. "Not yet."_

_The older man sighs, disrupting the dusty air around him. "Alright," he concedes and rubs his beard. "Come with me," he orders to no one in particular and everyone in the room follows into the foyer._

_Artie stops abruptly causing Pete to do a quick maneuver around his boss._

"_Whoa, Artie, make sure to check your break lights next time. My Matrix moves are a little rus…" his playful voice dies on his lips at the sight of Adwin Kosan. The others slow behind Artie and collectively frown at the Regent. His hands are folded behind his back and his head is bent slightly, casting his dark eyes upward to meet the agents'. Vanessa moves to stand next to him._

"_Jane felt the explosion through the Ramadi Shackle," Kosan answers the unasked question with ease. "And contacted us immediately."_

"_Is she okay?" Pete asks, worry evident in his voice._

_Kosan nods faintly. "She should be here soon."_

"_What?" Pete smiles, confused, "She's still in Japan."_

_Kosan trains his eyes on Pete and refuses to answer, his equivalent of _the look_._

"_Right," he sighs, rubbing his neck tiredly. "Top secret Regent teleportation."_

_Myka attempts to give him a smile but is sure it comes out more like grimace. Artie barely spares him a glance, his concentration on the Regents in front of him and the plan he knows they are implementing in their head._

_Kosan's eyes flick around the group and into the room where Claudia is still sleeping. There's someone missing. "Agent Wells?" _

_Myka's eyes darken, her tiny smile diminishing. She shakes her head more in denial than in answer. _

"_She saved our lives," Artie supplies for her, his voice quiet. Every eye shoots to the older man, some filling with the horrid memory, others imagining how. But retaining the little tact they have, neither Kosan nor Vanessa asks them to relive the minutes before the explosion. _

"_Arthur," Kosan says instead, bringing everyone in the room back to the matter at hand. "We must discuss the future of the warehouse."_

"_It's gone," Artie tells them uselessly. Of course they know it's why they are here._

"_Plans are already being made for its reconstruction," he informs them, raising both Pete's skeptical eyebrows and Myka's haunted gaze._

"_Reconstruction?" Myka's voice finally resonates in the small room. Her stare burns incredulously into Kosan's, who remains unfazed. _

"_The fires haven't even died out yet and-and you're talking about rebuilding the warehouse?" Pete adds, his eyes squinting in astonishment. _

"_Look, we understand you are all exhausted," Vanessa finally speaks, drawing their attention and letting them forage her motherly empathy. "But artifacts don't stop being artifacts because there is no safe place to store them." The simple logic slowly cools the heated room, leaving fatigue and grief in its place._

_Myka is the first to fall, sitting heavily on the steps, letting her drained soul search in vain for relief. Pete's eyes follow her descent and he instinctually moves towards her. The blood in his veins chills uncomfortably at Myka's acceptance. She is always on her feet, _gogogo_**,**__ never stopping when there is work to do. To see her lay down so easily, to stop, to lose hope, it's enough to causes him physical pain. He slouches slightly to bear the warehouse-sized weight placed on his shoulders. _

"_The warehouse is our top priority and we must continue to strive on with that in mind," Kosan says to the silent, weary agents. "Grievance and sorrow will have to wait." It's like talking to a brick wall for all the response he receives; a destroyed, cracked, crumbling wall._

_Nevertheless, Kosan continues, finally revealing the main reason he has appeared at the Bed and Breakfast. "For the warehouse to be restored, a new caretaker must first be connected to its heart."_

_Slowly, one by one, the agents around him react. Pete and Myka share an incredulous look and turn to their boss for answers. But Artie refuses to meet their gaze. Instead, his focus is on Vanessa and his silent, useless efforts to keep this unwanted truth from being exposed. Behind the group, Leena keeps her knowing eyes downcast; no one officially told her but the cryptic ways of the warehouse and it's occupants have never been that mysterious to her._

"_A new caretaker and a new warehouse, all in one day?" Pete finally expresses his sarcastic opinion, "What's next? A talking puppy?"_

"_Who is it?" Myka, ever the curious one if still a little angry, asks._

"_Miss Donovan," Kosan answers simply._

_The silence in the air is so palpable; it can be cut with a knife. Pete lets out a disbelieving breath as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other in an effort to keep from strangling the arrogant man. _

_Myka wordlessly studies the Regents. They aren't lying at all; they really expect Claudia to be the next caretaker. Her line of sight shifts to Artie. His face is drawn down in sorrow and defeat. His usually bright, loving eyes seem dimmed and tortured._

"_Did you know?" Myka's small voice breaks through the silence. Her question is directed at Artie and the old man slouches minutely._

_Artie inhales, preparing for the backlash of his answer. "I suspected it," he tells her because it's the truth. He wasn't told directly but not unlike Leena, he has learned the madness of the warehouse always has a method._

"_Wait, wait, you're telling me that Claudia, _our Claudia_," Pete points into the sitting room where the redhead begins to stir, "is going to be the next Mrs. Frederic?"_

"_The warehouse," Vanessa chimes in, her soothing voice doing anything but, "chose her as a Second long before she entered our lives. She's destined for it."_

_Pete snorts his disgust as Myka's recoil from the word goes unnoticed. _

_In the renewed silence, rustling is heard from the other room. The group slowly abandons the foyer in time to see Claudia push a hand against her temple in an effort to lessen the headache splitting her skull. She exhales a quiet moan when the world rights itself and she sits up on the couch._

_Artie is the first one she sees when she looks up and every fiber of her being wants to crush the man in a huge hug because _he's alive_. But her quick assessment of the room keeps her stationary. Although the people she loves once again surround her, there are still two missing. And their current replacements are the people she'd rather never think about again, let alone talk to. Claudia turns her gaze to the side and shuts her eyes. Nothing good ever comes of the Regents. _

_Her friends watch helplessly as Claudia builds up a cement wall they know is soon to be defended by anger and malice. _

"_The whole circus is in town," the redhead finally deadpans, her dangerous eyes returning to scan the group. "You should have told me, Artie. I didn't get a ticket."_

_Artie takes a few gentle steps towards her, ignoring the scorn in her gaze. "Claudia," he starts but quickly realizes he doesn't know how to proceed. He wants to sit down, to explain everything in full, including her so-called _destiny_. And he wants to help her with it. But that's not how the universe works. She's hurting, completely fueled with rage and hate towards the Regents and the plan they have cooking. And now, well it's too late to gradually bring her farther into the world she thought she knew. So Artie settles with a meek, "Are you okay?"_

_He knows immediately it's the wrong thing to ask, but it doesn't matter anyway. Claudia ignores him._

_Her gaze is fixed on the green ribbon dangling from Vanessa's wrist. Artie wishes the doctor thought to put it away until it was absolutely necessary because the look Claudia is giving it is _not_ pleasant. _

"_Miss Donovan," Kosan moves further into view, catching Claudia's attention._

"_Save the small talk, Kosan," Claudia sneers and suddenly Pete and Myka feel like they missed out on an earlier part of their conversation. "Why the hell would I want to be one of you?"_

_Frustrated tears quickly cloud Claudia's vision and it only upsets her more. She can't cry; she's tired of looking weak in front of these ridiculous Regents. _

_Myka and Leena nearly stagger from the tugs on their hearts; they both want to help, to stop this madness but how, when it seems the decision has already been made?_

"_You of all people," Kosan states, "should understand the power and importance of the warehouse and it's survival."_

_Claudia stands faster than her small pale body would suggest able. "Don't you ever listen? I told you the warehouse is gone. It's dead. Blown to ashes," she exclaims, hating him more and more with every second._

"_And we will rebuild it from those ashes," Kosan assures her, his calm demeanor faulting slightly at the stubbornness in front of him. "But not without a caretaker."_

_Claudia pulls back suddenly. Memories of Egypt and evil H.G. and a dying Mrs. Frederic flash before her eyes. "And that's me," she states without emotion. Suddenly the strange headaches, the piercing one right before the explosion, make sense. It's her, it always has been. "Let me see Steve," she argues calmly. If they want her to be the new caretaker for the rest of her life, they owe her at least that._

"_I'm afraid that's not possible," a new voice enters the conversation. Pete and Myka jump slightly at the guest before Pete's face lights up and a fine mix of relief and dread befalls Myka's. Claudia's eyes narrow in repulsion as Jane Lattimer steps into the room._

"_Then I guess your warehouse won't have a caretaker," Claudia states, daring the other woman to challenge her. Pete and Myka share a worried look at the fury and fortitude shinning bright in the redhead's eyes._

"_This isn't a negotiation," Jane replies like she would to an unruly student of hers._

"_Mom," Pete cuts in lightly, an uncertain smile on his face. He's never seen his mother in full Regent mode and isn't quite sure he likes it._

"_You can't force her," Myka defends the redhead before anyone else can put a word in otherwise._

_Tearing her gaze from the younger woman's, Jane turns to her son and his partner. "Thank you both for your input but this does not concern you. This is a matter between Claudia and the Regents," she adds over the beginning their arguments. "Arthur, take your agents into another room, please."_

_Artie hesitates. Her tone is so degrading that if he didn't already want to stay for Claudia's sake, he would stay just to spite her. But just as he opens his mouth to argue Claudia cuts him off._

"_Just go, Artie."_

_She says it with enough resolve that Artie is stunned for a few seconds. He sees all the pain, defeat, and hate pouring off her that the father in him wants to grab hold of her and pull her away from the wolves' den. But, that part of him is still new and unsure and it's hard enough as it is to say no to the redhead already. So he falls back on his agent training and does as he is told. _

_Artie casts one last cautioning look to Claudia but it goes unnoticed, the redheads concentration has returned to the people controlling her future. Slowly, Artie leads his reluctant agents and Leena out of the room, effectively leaving the newborn to fight for her life against the pack of hungry wolves._

.:.

She decides she hates police stations. They are cold and demeaning, and usually smell like body odor and canned flowers. Both sides of the law have attitudes and the medical staffs knowledge of how to fix a possible broken nose is laughable. When Myka finishes giving her official statement, she downs a few painkillers and checks the damage in the grimy bathroom mirror.

It's not broken, just sore. She scrubs gingerly at the remaining dried blood across her top lip and gently probes the bruised skin under her left eye. She'll live.

When she finally exits the station, she finds Pete waiting for her. His hands rest in his jacket pockets, his back is straight and his head held high. He's like a tiger in the open, feigning disinterest, waiting to pounce at the perfect moment.

But she doesn't give him a reason to expel his rigid energy, instead walking straight to him. She stops a few feet away and keeps his gaze. Eventually his eyes flick around her face, taking in the damage done to her perfect skin.

"Do you regret teaching her those defensive moves, yet?" He asks, face stony.

Myka ignores the question, feeling her heartbeat speed up, anxious to divulge her worries to someone. "Claudia's not well, Pete. She's lost it," she tells him, feeling terribly like a guilty little girl confessing her sins to a knowing Priest.

Pete immediately reacts to her broken voice. He shuffles his feet and edges closer to Myka. He nearly reaches out to comfort her but stops himself, his arm swinging uselessly by his side. "What is she planning?"

The tears in her eyes complete the look of someone battered and defeated. "Something bad."


End file.
